


Step Outta My Zone

by spiderboyneedsahug



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Injury, Jefferson Davis is Best Dad, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miles Morales Needs a Hug, Rio Morales is Best Mom, Sleepy Cuddles, no beta we die like men, okay i can't believe it took me this long, repeated mentions of how small miles is because he is Tiny and Small, that he do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-10-12 06:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17462012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderboyneedsahug/pseuds/spiderboyneedsahug
Summary: Miles has been in a couple of schoolyard brawls before, but nothing comparing to the likes of the fight he just fought against Wilson Fisk.And he might be a little more than roughed up.Also known as: a bunch of Spider-Verse oneshots including Miles being adopted by everyone eventually





	1. You're the Sunflower

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i loved smitsv and I would perish for Miles Morales happily on any day, so like... expect more content from me featuring this lil dude. he's so tiny. janky hobo parker might feature in the next one

Jefferson Davis is a logical man. He knows what he sees, he knows what he does, he knows where he stands in the world. That’s how it’s been ever since he was a kid, ever since he took up the cop mantle, ever since he settled down with Rio and they were blessed with Miles. He knows the world around him and he’s comfortable with how he understands it. It’s simple and easy. 

 

He blinks. There’s a headache pounding relentlessly at his temple, demanding he notice, whispering his hushed thoughts of worry about Miles. About Rio. Are they safe? He worries. He worries that there’s a more sinister reason that Miles hasn’t been picking up his phone.

 

The dust is still settling, and arguably, this is the most unsteady he’s ever felt. He stands weakly, brushing small glass shards and dirt patches from himself where he can. The space inside the… the massive device is still obscured by a dusty haze, but he finds himself trying to peer inside anyways.

 

He just witnessed… something. Something odd. Technicolour, transparent buildings, buses as solid and real as the ones he sees people get on every day, glass shards, Brooklyn Bridge rising out of nothing… All of them revolving around a single point, orbiting a central point, spinning and moving and tearing things apart.

 

And Spider-Man. But… not Spider-Man. A new Spider, dressed in black and red, fighting Wilson Fisk inside this… massive collider. If that’s what it was. He saw Spider-Man taking hits that should have killed any other human being. He saw this very small, definitely-a-kid Spider-Man get slammed through buildings, through the side of a bus. Possibly having been choked out by the hulking figure of Fisk inside the bus. He couldn’t see inside well, but he saw those gangly limbs disappear from sight for much too long. He watched the two fighting in freefall, before slamming into Brooklyn Bridge. But… not  _ the  _ Brooklyn Bridge. A different one, bathed in different colours. It gives him a headache just to think about it. He saw Spider-Man get crushed by a blow that should have killed him, and struggle back up to his feet with the sounds of a hurt child. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d been pleading for the silhouette to get back up, to keep fighting. The colours, the energy coming from the epicentre… it had been getting darker. More unstable. Jefferson peers inside again, leaning through the shattered windows and warped framework of the control room. Still too murky to see.

 

Jefferson Davis is a logical man, and it perplexes him to no end at how his heart had wrenched when he heard the quiet, distorted noises that were undoubtedly cries reaching him before Spider-Man got back up. The tiny, small cries of a child. This Spider-Man is not a  _ man.  _ He’s too small. Much too small. This guy… can’t have killed Aaron. No, no. This is a child he’s thinking about, this is a  _ baby.  _ This guy could be Miles’ age.

 

His back protests when he stands, stretching his spine slightly. The force of that black hole closing… he’d nearly been pulled in to that maelstrom multiple times. Thinking back, so had Spider-Man. He’d been hanging on by a strand of web by the time the machine erupted. Glass pieces drop to the floor with delicate, melodic  _ tinks _ as he stands fully upright again.

 

The dust finally gives in, and Jefferson can just about see the other side of the massive, cylindrical room beyond where he is. It’s empty of life. There’s a single strand of spider-webbing hanging from the ceiling, and no spider dangling from it.

 

And with that, Jefferson Davis finds himself turning back and walking out of the control room, eyes wide, heart pounding, and definitely in shock. There’s nobody inside this room to apprehend, anyway. He needs to get outside, to help people. He needs to do something familiar. The world isn’t twisted and psychedelic anymore, it’s almost startlingly normal now. The walls aren’t trembling and refracting, they’re just… normal. 

 

He needs to regroup with the rest of the force. Categorise and take damages, make sure nobody got seriously hurt… find Fisk. And- the other Spider-People are nowhere to be seen. Maybe they fell into that black-hole-thing.

 

Against his dislike of vigilantes, Jefferson sincerely hopes they didn’t get killed in that fight. There are two security guards, passed out and webbed up and slouched down in the hallways as he creeps back towards the elevator again, back towards the outside world. All he can see in his mind’s eye are the cluster buildings, the fragmenting Brooklyn Bridges, the storm of glass shards floating around the orbiting vehicles… and Spider-Man in the middle of it all.

 

Jefferson shakes his head. He needs to stop thinking about that. He’s got his responsibility to the people to worry about first. 

 

And, as expected, there’s a frenzied mess of a crowd waiting. The guests to Fisk’s party, civilians, cops, medics -- they’re all fumbling for things and trying to help one another. He spares a thought to Rio, how she’s probably taking care of people with the same tender warmth she gives everyone, before sweeping that away and donning the cold cop facade. It’s easy to get to the centre of the crowd, and to assess the damages. 

 

Surprisingly, asides from debris and rubble from the explosion and the tremors beforehand, there is very little warping and distortions in the street to pay attention to, possible none at all. From there, it’s easy to make a plan of attack to tackle this mess. Find Fisk. Take care of his goons. Evacuate civilians, secure a perimeter around the place, provide medical attention to those who need it and-

 

When is it ever that simple?

 

There’s a shuffling out of the corner of his vision, irregular and stumbling. Limping. Somebody is hurt. Concerned, he feels himself turn to face-

 

“Spider-Man!”

 

How the vigilante managed to get so close without alerting him at all is kind of disconcerting. But… now that he’s closer, Jefferson can see patches of dirt, thin scratch lines, and… blood? It’s hard to see through the black material of the suit this one is wearing, but the shiny patches are alarming. 

“Officer.” Jefferson’s expression twitches into a frown. That voice is obviously being forced to be lower, by someone trying to hide the teenage-squeakiness of their voice. Jefferson actually has to look down just to peer at this kid, he’s so small, and he holds himself with the stance of an abashed teenager. It feels achingly familiar. Jefferson opens his mouth to reply, utterly confused by this perplexing Spider-Kid before he remembers- this guy got squashed by Fisk and kept going. He may not agree with vigilantism, but… any other cop would have been killed. It’s a miracle that…  _ thing…  _ got stopped when it did. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened without this guy. 

“Spider-Man- I… thank you.” The words aren’t as bitter as he thought they’d be. The little Spidey looks up, eye lenses white and wide, almost curious looking, and-

 

The little guy makes to take a step forward, but winds up stumbling forwards with a muted whimper, so Jefferson steps in to catch the kid before he can hit the floor. He’s hurt, probably. He can feel deceivingly strong hands readjusting themselves at his back as the little Spider-Man tries to stand back up. It doesn’t appear to be working. Alarmed, Jefferson realises that the tiny Spidey isn’t getting back up like he’d seen before. He’s slumping closer to the ground, making hurt noises that sound like they’re being muffled through gritted teeth.

 

This little Spider-Man is just a kid. He’s too small under Jefferson’s rough hands, and he feels a sharp twist in his chest because this person is small and young enough to be Miles. 

 

The air is beginning to taste like the beginnings of rain, and the brightly coloured lights from billboards and buildings illuminate the ground brightly. Jefferson crouches down to rest the tiny Spider-kid down on the floor, using one hand to cradle his head so it doesn’t smack down into the concrete. In this light he can see the tiny figure attempting to squirm away, but he’s only succeeding in curling up into a smaller ball. He feels a few small, cold drops of rain meet the back of his neck over the next few seconds as he tries to figure out what to do with the injured vigilante he’s kneeling over.

 

His attention is stolen when he becomes aware of the growing commotion behind him, and how the Spidey-kid is trying to crawl away still. He can’t move more than a few inches. Jefferson stands quickly to attention and whirls around on his feet, where a bright, harsh light is being shone on a blob hanging in the middle of the air. 

 

It’s Fisk’s hulking figure suspended neatly between buildings by shining gossamer, writhing similarly to the small Spider-Man. Jefferson feels hot, choking indignation rise up into his chest. But it seems that his colleagues already know that they’re looking at this particular crime’s main perpetrator, because they aren’t in any rush to get Fisk down. For once, he’s gonna let his co-workers deal with this one, because they’re more than able to.

 

And his hands are kind of full. Little Spidey’s managed to wiggle a few centimeters further away, whimpering quietly through a thick throat. This… this Spider-Man isn’t the reason he found Aaron’s- no,  _ Prowler’s  _ body in that alley. He won’t blame any innocent child for that. With that knowledge, Jefferson looks back to the tiny, shuddering child and suddenly, it hits him. He may not like or even agree with the vigilante’s methods, but… he can’t let another Spider-Man die this week. Not if he can stop it.

 

Jefferson finds himself walking next to the spider and kneeling down next to him yet again, gently manipulating too-spindly limbs so they lie flat against the ground. Thank god Rio took the time in the past to help him get through some basic first aid training. It’s coming in all-too useful now, in a situation he never thought he’d find himself in.

 

For a second, he thinks he hears a quiet whimpering of  _ “Dad.”,  _ and he finds his heart racing. This Spider-Man… do his parents know? He’s just a kid, delirious from injuries and thinking Jefferson is his dad, and he feels an overwhelming pity for this kid’s parents. Their child is out fighting crime, saving the world, getting injured, and… he can’t fathom the thought of these injuries on Miles. It would crush him, he wouldn’t be able to… he’d be proud, of course, but… here’s a child on death’s door. It burns him.

 

It’s a little difficult to feel the kid’s pulse through the material of his suit, but Jefferson does manage to barely catch a rapid, strong thumping under his fingertips. Okay. That’s- that should be a good place to start. He looks around, trained eyes raking through the large crowd of emergency service workers until they land on the familiar colours that mean  _ medic.  _ He waves one over silently while gently allowing hushed words to fall from his lips to reassure the now-panicking vigilante on the floor.

 

He remembers Miles crying like this once, when he was much younger, and how Jefferson had felt he needed to protect his son from the world.

 

So why does he feel that way now?

 

Maybe hysterically, he wonders how Miles would feel if he brought the vigilante home like some stray puppy.

 

Reluctantly, he finds himself offering one of his hands out for the vigilante to hold. Spidey’s obviously hurt. He needs something to ground himself, and, well… given how this tiny kid managed to save Brooklyn from  _ whatever that was,  _ he owes him some measure of comfort now that the adrenaline has faded. Right now, he’s not looking into the mask of the vigilante he distrusts. Right now, he’s looking at a kid who’s trying to protect the world but not himself. Right now, he’s looking at a kid who saved the world and is seriously hurt. He may not like Spider-Man… but he’s not a monster. 

 

Spider-Man’s too-scrawny arm blindly reaches out, patting the now-damp floor before it finds Jefferson’s hand and exerts a clearly restrained but still crushing grip on his hand. He’s had much worse, but it’s still bizarre and oh-so disproportionate that a child this size could break boulders if he so desired.

 

The medics finally get to them and Jefferson instantly notices that, guessing from their expressions, they’re obviously confused about how to proceed, with their patient being a vigilante-superhero and all. But that doesn’t matter at this point, what matters is that Brooklyn’s new resident spider is hurt. Jefferson urges them forward with steely eyes to help because he’s starting to be able to feel his hand again, which means Spider-Man is weakening. One of them reaches down, likely to pry the mask from the tiny Spider-Man’s face so they can check his breathing, but they’re instead treated to a harsh flinch, an attempt to scramble backwards, and the flickering of Spider-Man’s body from visible to transparent in jerky ripples.

 

Jefferson blinks. Okay.

“Hey, they’re not going to take your mask off.” He shoots the medic a look, and they raise their hands in surrender. “Calm down.” 

And to his surprise, tiny Spider-Man listens.

 

Distantly, he realises he’s babying this vigilante, but he doesn’t allow himself to stop, because he can still hear stuttering breaths and odd choking noises that are a blend between crying and moaning in pain. This is a child. A hurt, scared, alone child. He’s got to offer something. He keeps his ears open to any relevant information the medics mumble at one another, in hushed, quick tones. It’s mostly beyond his understanding, but he does catch a few things about a  _ ‘fast, erratic pulse’ _ and his  _ ‘low blood oxygen, possibly swollen trachea’. _ It’s only when they say, clearly and audibly, that they want to take him in for scans that the small Spider-Man starts struggling again in earnest, gasping and trying to get away that Jefferson steps in.

“Hey hey hey hey hey…” 

 

Little Spidey stops moving, eye lenses widening once more and closing before the tension seeps from his frame and he tries to curl in on himself. Jefferson feels the child-like action press hard against his heart.

_ “I’ll  _ take him to the hospital.” The baby Spider-Man doesn’t panic like he did when the medics said they wanted to bring him in, so Jefferson counts that as a win. He’s just content that this little guy has decided to trust him for the time being. The medics don’t look too pleased, eyes concerned, but also… this is a superhero-vigilante. They can’t exactly force him to go with them. They tell some things to him, just quiet things he needs to inform whoever tends to their vigilante-patient, and he nods before they vanish into the crowd once more, leaving him alone with the fragile, too-tiny hero on the floor next to him.

 

With a tenderness he didn’t think he could possess outside of his family, Jefferson brings Spider-Man up close to his chest and slowly walks towards where his car is parked. The kid almost seems to relax into him, mumbling something incoherent into his shoulder. He’s still tense with pain but it doesn’t seem as bad as it had been before. He slips the child into the backseat and backs off when his hand is tapped lightly after an attempt to buckle him in. He’s just gonna have to be a little slower on his journey to the ER. That’s fine. He slides into his front seat with practised ease and turns on the ignition, feeling faintly the car thrum to life under him. Spidey seems to melt into the leather of his back seats, but his eye lenses are widened now. He wonders why.

“You ever been in one of these?” Not that he thinks this kid could be a convict, not after taking down a guy like Kingpin, but… maybe he’s got a reason to be more alert now. Jefferson’s question doesn’t receive a verbal response, just a noncommittal hum, very pained, gasping quietly in the silence. He feels his expression twitch into a frown.

 

He is a little bit faster than he should be, and he runs the red light between him and getting this kid medical treatment, if only because his mumblings have been growing quieter and less coherent. He hears the occasional word about ‘multiverse’ and having to be the one to do something, but nothing that makes any real sense.

 

In his mind, he can hear Miles groaning about how he won’t run a red light to avoid some of the more misguided kids from his old school. He really needs to call his boy, just… check up on him. After Aaron… he can’t let himself and his son grow apart like he did from his brother. The wound is still gushing grief all over him.

 

When they finally pull up, the little Spidey seems to be asleep. He doesn’t squirm or whimper when Jefferson scoops him up again, he just snuggles into his grip and relaxes once more. Jefferson quicks his pace towards the front doors, ignoring the looks he’s getting, and steps foot in the hospital silently.

 

Naturally, the second he walks through the front doors of the hospital with the new, red and black suited Spider-Man napping in his arms, he gains attention quickly. He wonders if the kid behind the mask can hear the concern he’s receiving from all sorts of people for his heroics.

“Is that Spider-Man?!”

“Is he okay?!”

“Spidey, are you alright?”

They’re beginning to swarm him and halt his progress to Rio, so gruffly, Jefferson finds himself calling out, “Stand down, he’s hurt.” into the crowd.

 

And they do. They’re still mumbling quietly when he sets Spidey down on the bed. The Spider-Child’s eyes open into white slits, staring up at him, so he offers a small half-smile at him.

“You’re going to be okay, Spider-Man.”

_ “Mi amor? _ Jefferson, what are you-?” Jefferson turns around at the voice of his wife rushing towards him, looking frenzied but beautiful nonetheless. He raises a finger to his lips and points where the small Spider-Man is sleeping on the bed.

“I was wrong. About…” There’s proof on the hospital bed that  _ maybe _ vigilantes aren’t as bad as he thought. He saw that… mess inside Fisk tower. He saw how hard this kid fought to save others.

“He’s just a baby.” Her voice is… sad. She rakes her eyes up and down the scrawny form of their new hero and nods to herself quickly, rapidly muttering before she turns around to him again.

“Oh, él es tan...  _ pequeño.  _ Keep an eye on him, honey, I’ll find somewhere better to put him.” And she hurries out of his sight in a rush of harried energy, leaving him alone with the little Spider-kid.

 

A few people try to approach them in the time they spend waiting for Rio to come back, and each an every time they do, Jefferson feels a small flare of protectiveness rise up in his chest because this skittish vigilante came to him for help when he needed it… and he can’t be much older than Miles is. That’s a lot of responsibility on such young shoulders.

 

And then, like a blessing, Rio arrives and quickly squirrels them away into a hushed corner of the hospital, small, but otherwise unoccupied by anyone else. There’s not many health monitors she can attach without removing the kid’s suit and potentially giving away his identity, so instead, Jefferson just lies the tiny hero down on the new bed and keeps a close eye on him while holding his conversation with Rio. It’s almost amusing how the kid melts into the bed whenever Rio tries to aggressively parent him.

 

She’s exhausted, that much is obvious. She’s spent her night taking care of those who fell victim to the structural damage Kingpin’s machine caused across Brooklyn, and it hasn’t been easy. With as much love as he can without becoming patronising, Jefferson guides her down into a chair and within seconds, she falls asleep. The little spider has been watching them interact with wide (curious?) eyes, but looks away quickly when he realises that Jefferson has noticed. It’s cute, like when you spot your kid with their hand in the cookie jar. 

 

It takes a long while, but Jefferson is just clinging to the last threads of his own consciousness when he sees little Spidey’s eye lenses close completely, and the tension slinks from his weedy frame. 

 

He falls asleep not soon after. 

 

It only feels like he’s been under for about two minutes when a clang wakes him up abruptly. He blinks several times quickly to clear away the blurriness in his eyes while his hand slips down to his gun holster. It’s an ingrained reaction by now, having spent so long on the job.

 

He pauses.

 

Because Spider-Man is stood in front of him, mask hitched up to the nose, cup of water dripping down his cheeks, frozen mid-motion. The eye lenses of his mask are comically wide, and the he watches, amused, as the child turns invisible in his shock, leaving Jefferson to observe the floating cup. It hovers there, still, for at least two minutes before there’s a change again.

 

Spidey doesn’t try to leave like his fellow cops had reported whenever they tried to drag the old Spider-Man, Parker, to hospital, no, he just… reappears, body language almost abashed, rests the cup back down on the bedside table and shakily crawls back onto the bed, curling up and keeping the mask half-up like it is.

 

Jefferson can see a split lip out of the very corner of the mask and some bruising around the edges of his cheeks. This guy is so young… this could have been  _ Miles _ who got squashed by Fisk.

 

Actually, he really needs to call Miles. Just to be safe. He’s probably sleeping. It’s late. But… Jefferson can’t help but be worried about him, and not just because of the loss of Aaron. 

 

It takes the little spider’s shifting to regain his focus on the world around him.

“You alright?” He asks.

“O-oh, yeah, I’m- I’m good. Better. Uh- thank you, Officer. You really-” The little guy’s voice is hoarse and low, gravelly, but not in a way that is natural. It’s being put on, clearly.

“I wasn’t gonna just let Brooklyn’s new Spider-Guy down now, was I?” Little Spidey twitches, apparently affronted.

“It’s Spider- _ Man…” _

“Not until you finish puberty.”

“What?”

“Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

 

The silence says it all.

 

“My- my parents! I need to- make sure they’re- I gotta go, Officer, I’ll see ya around!” Spidey stands with a sudden grace that baffles Jefferson. This kid should be limping around still, so how…? There’s energy in his frame that hadn’t been there seconds before, and his tone was almost desperate. Jefferson frowns.

“Spider-Man, you’re still hurt-”

 

But he’s gone from the room in a ripple. Jefferson watches a window slide open as if by magic, and then slam shut. He huffs. Whoever chose that invisible powers were a good idea needs to have some words with him. It’s not like he could have stopped the kid though.

 

Now that his main priority-slash-distraction is gone, Jefferson feels the familiar itch of restlessness crawl into him. Rio is still out of it, resting peacefully, so… He’ll try calling Miles now. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and Jefferson is about to put it down when it picks up on the fourth time.

“...dad?” Miles’ voice comes through. It’s bleary and a little rough. He probably woke him up.

“Oh- Miles. Miles. Hey, son.”

“Dad? ‘re you alright?” He sounds so  _ sleepy.  _ Like he did when he was a baby.

“I am now. Miles, I- we need to talk, okay? In person. Face to face. How about… after school on Friday? I can take you to that coffee place. Foam Party?” Tears are beginning to sting at his eyes now, and he can’t figure out why. Why now? 

 

Because this is the olive branch he’s offering to his baby boy, and he couldn’t survive a rejection.

 

“Okay, dad.” Miles’ voice is a whisper, quiet and emotional. It stings in his chest. “That sounds good.”

“We can talk about whatever you want, Miles, I just…” He thinks to Aaron, to his brother, to his brother he can never see again, and the moisture in his eyes reaches a tipping point. “I don’t want us to grow apart.”

“Me neither, dad. I…” Jefferson hears the yawn that tears through Miles from where he is, and a quiet laugh bubbles out of his chest.

“You sound tired.”

“I  _ am _ tired, dad. This place is… exhausting…” 

“Okay, Miles. You go back to sleep. And- if you want to swing by home before Friday… I won’t tell your school.” He shouldn’t be endorsing rule-breaking like this. But… 

A laugh, tired, but happy. “Okay, dad. Love you.”

“I love you too, Miles.”

 

He’d do it to hear his son laugh like that again.

 

Jefferson looks out of the window where Spider-Man had leapt away from, and peers past into the faint silhouette of the Brooklyn Visions Academy, and feels a part of him that had been unsettled since Miles left for school sink into place.


	2. Needless to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man is starting to become popular in Brooklyn, but Jefferson knows that their hero is just a kid. So when the little hero himself drops into the alley outside his house, he isn't just going to stay in bed now, is he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dad jeff DAD JEFF DAD JEFF

The night isn’t exactly young when Jefferson hears a loud  _ crash,  _ a pained yelp and an even louder  _ clang  _ down in the alley next to his house. He’s only just gotten back from a graveyard shift, and he’s so exhausted that his eyelids fight him every single second he spends awake. His instinct is to slam his hand out onto his bedside table for the flashlight kept in the drawer at all times, but he comes up empty. There’s another crash and a quiet whimper, and that’s when Jefferson’s brain decides to fully wake up regardless of what he wants to do. Dragging on a thick nightgown, Jefferson silently slips downstairs, eyes attuned to any light amongst the darkness. There’s no movement in the house, and for that, Jefferson is incredibly grateful. He’s so far beyond tired that it’s no longer a joke. The hallway is not cluttered like it would have been with Miles’ stuff there, and for that, Jefferson feels a pang deep in his gut. 

 

He’s trying to restore the bond between him and his son, and he thinks it’s working. He… Miles is a great artist. Before, Jefferson knew this offhand, and didn’t appreciate the fact like he does now. He went to Foam Party or whatever it was called two weeks ago on Friday and spoke with Miles. It had been awkward; stumbling fragments of conversation and oh-so emotional, but it’s progress, because Miles picks up his phone much more often and talks to him more about simple things. 

 

Next time he sees his son, he’s going to tell him about the privately owned wall Jefferson managed to get his hands on for Miles to paint on. He wants it to be a surprise.

 

He turns his torch to the space beyond the windows, into the alley where the noise came from. It might have just been a cat. Then again, guessing from how loud that crash had been, it would have had to have been a really big cat. He’s tense as he approaches the window like he’s expecting some icon from a horror movie to spring up before him, but nothing happens. Suspiciously, Jefferson eyes the door that leads out into the alley and closes his hand around the ice-cold knob of it. He twists it slowly, turning the key with precision, and opens the door by a fraction. He shines the torch through the crack.

“Hello?” He calls out. The alley bounces his voice back to him. He’s about to turn back inside and back to blissful sleep when he hears a noise. It’s only a rustling, followed up by a small noise Jefferson might label as a whine, but it reaches him with crystal clarity. Suddenly awake, Jefferson opens the door fully and steps out into the night. With only the light from his torch and the dim amber hues reaching the alley from the street, it’s difficult to see to the brick wall at the dead end. But it’s cold. 

“Hello?” He shouts out again.

“...officer?” Jefferson hears. He tenses. There’s only one person who calls him Officer, the rest of his colleagues call him Jeff or Davis.

“Spider-Man?” Comes out without permission, incredulous and thick with confusion.

 

Said Spider rematerialises in front of him and stumbles down to the alley floor with no semblance of the grace he carried after the supercollider incident. Jefferson starts, surprised, and crouches down next to the little vigilante.

“...hey, officer. Sorry to- wake you up, but…”

“It’s fine, Spider-Man.” He observes the little kid before him before his eyes land on what looks to be an injury. He turns his torch to it, and it reveals a slice in the black material of his suit, and a deep, bleeding wound. Jefferson curses. “You’re hurt.”

“...I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

And damn, if that doesn’t hurt deeply at Jefferson’s paternal instincts. Spider-Man came to him, someone who is relatively a stranger to him, for help. This child stumbled to his house from wherever he was to get help because he trusts Jefferson with this, apparently. 

 

With a grunt, Jefferson scoops the little Spider up into his arms and brings him inside, ignoring any quiet, pained protests he gets. He’s not going to let this child bleed out from a stab wound now, is he? He sets the tiny vigilante down on the kitchen floor and turns on the lights so he can see more clearly what he’s doing. The wound is beginning to seep blood onto the tiles, and Jefferson is definitely going to have to mop that up. Thank god he didn’t choose the living room’s expensive carpet to lie the hero down on.

“What happened?” He asks quietly as he rummages through the cupboard’s for the first aid kit- there. He pulls it out and rests it on the floor next to Spider-Man before jogging to the living room and snagging a pillow for the vigilante’s floor to rest on. The tiled floor isn’t comfortable, and it’s worse now the little guy is bleeding over it.

“Tried to stop a mugging, it- ah- kinda went south from there.” Like this, small and vulnerable, it strikes home how young this little kid is, and Jefferson has half a mind to let the vigilante borrow Miles’ room for the night if he can. This guy wouldn’t rummage around through Miles’ stuff either, so it would be fine. Wouldn’t it?

“No kidding… I might need to cut your suit a little bit more, Spider-Man.” He gets a nod in the form of a small twitch, so Jefferson runs a pair of scissors along the fabric. It takes some work and definitely isn’t spandex like he’d first assumed, something stronger, but eventually he manages to expose the full length of the wound to sight. Jefferson ignores the overly prominent ribs this kid has in favour of running antiseptic wipes along the surface of the wound, just to make sure nothing is in there already. The little Spider-kid flinches but doesn’t make a sound during the process. He should try to distract the little hero.

“How did you know where to come to find me?” He absently asks while he ponders how he’ll bandage the wound around the suit. The wound, once cleaned, was revealed to have been deep but reasonably small. Not a pin-prick but not a slashed open knife wound. A plaster wouldn’t cut it but a bandage would be overdoing it.

“Oh, I- a while back I followed you back to make sure you- got home safely, ya know? You seemed tired, I didn’t want… traffic was bad, didn’t want ya to crash or something.”

 

Jefferson feels his heart swell a little because of this tiny vigilante who wants to keep  _ him _ safe, even if they’re strangers. The hero before him is a purehearted, gentle kid and it really shows right now, in the form of a spindly frame and a childlike yawn under the mask. Jefferson feels a small smile come to his face despite himself.

 

His opinion on the vigilante has changed a lot in the past few weeks. After some reflection and coming to the realisation that some things are just too much for the police to handle, like the supercollider, Jefferson had decided to be warily accepting of the little guy’s additional support. It hasn’t been a detriment to have a guy who can catch cars on their side yet, and he doesn’t think it will be. Not to the police force at least. As for this kid’s sleep schedule...

 

It would be great if Miles were here to see this but it’s a school night still, he’s up to his nose in books probably. He hopes his son has been taking care of himself with that workload.

 

In the end, Jefferson decides just to wrap bandages over the suit in a neat circle around the injury.

“You know, my kid would love to meet you someday.” He says while he’s securing the bandages tightly. The little guy tenses beneath him, so Jefferson backs off. Must have pulled them too tight. 

“Uh huh?” It sounds like a yawn.

“Yeah, he’s a big fan of you hero types. Has all the comics.”

“I’d love to- I’d love to meet him…” The little guy sounds embarrassed, almost confused. Jefferson could only wonder why -- Brooklyn has taken a real shine to their new Spider-Man. He’s got plenty of fans already, and it’s only been a few weeks since he popped up out of the woodworks. Maybe he’s got a touch of stage fright, who knows?

 

Jefferson offers a hand for the little kid to cling to when he pulls himself back upright for the first time since coming in, stumbling around Jefferson’s kitchen slowly. He’s moving fine, all things considered, and looks to be pretty stable right now. The kid flickers in and out of sight quickly and rests his hands on the wall, pulling them off neatly a few times, oddly enough. He nods to himself, and walks back over to Jefferson.

 

To his surprise, he’s pulled into a very strong hug. Jefferson hesitantly rests his comparatively giant hands on the tiny frame of the baby Spider, and it could almost feel normal for a few seconds until the little vigilante pulls away, eye lenses wide, and clears his throat.

“Thank you, officer.” 

 

He didn’t put on some silly, fake accent this time, and Jefferson is treated to an eerily familiar Brooklyn-twang, much too young and squeaky to be saving the world like he is. Jefferson paints a smile over his emotions.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got- I got places to be. Y’know. ‘Cause I’m Spider-Man.” The little guy nearly jumps on the spot, swinging his arms back and forth. He looks like a child that’s really excited to go out to play.

“Yeah, yeah… alright, Spider-Man. Take care of yourself, alright?” He thinks about it. “And if you need help again, feel free to come back, you hear me?”

 

He gets a little laugh, and Spider-Man ripples out of sight. Jefferson watches the doorknob turn a few times, rattling, before he hears a sheepish noise.

“You gotta stop doing that, Spider-Man.” Jefferson finds himself chuckling nonetheless, and he unlocks the kitchen door to let the Spider-Kid back outside into the night again.

“Thanks again, man, I’m… thanks.” The kid looks kind of awkward now, stood halfway outside the building.

“Alright, Spider-Man. Good night.”

“G’night, officer!” He watches the little guy spring forward and ricochet up the side of the buildings before he’s on the roof and swinging out of sight.

 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about Brooklyn’s new baby Spider-Man, but he’s got a feeling he isn’t the only person looking out for him. Or at least, he won’t be. This guy is something.

 

Jefferson turns back to the kitchen and snags the pillow off the floor, chucking it haphazardly in the direction of the couch in the living room before using a fresh antiseptic wipe to soak up the blood on the floor. There isn’t as much as he would have thought there would be, but it still makes his heart twist in worry, and not the unfounded kind.

 

He tries to go back up into his room silently, but he’s met by Rio stood just at the end of the hall, only just peering into the kitchen where Spider-Man had been. She’s smiling, and it’s clear she had seen the entire thing.

“He trusts you, mi amor.”

“He… he does, Rio. He’s young, I couldn't just leave him to it. You know that.”

“I do, but… which of us is going to tell Miles that you’re going to try to adopt Brooklyn’s hero?”

"I'm not going to adopt Spider-Man, Rio-”

She gives him a look that clearly shows that she isn't convinced. “He isn't a  _ man,  _ Jeff, he's an  _ araña pequeño _ and he needs people looking out for him.”

 

Maybe she does have a point. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly aware of how small this hero is. Instead of vocalising that, Jefferson just gives Rio a half-smile. When they head back up to bed, Jefferson spares a thought to the little vigilante before he finally succumbs to exhaustion once more.

 

And after that night, he always makes sure to leave a window open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how's he gonna tell miles this and more importantly how is miles gonna tell jefferson that he can't adopt his own son??? asking the real questions here


	3. Came Back in the Form of Someone Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His spider-sense isn't shutting up. It hasn't since a few weeks after the supercollider incident. Miles is getting frustrated now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back bitches

The tingling in the back of his head increases for the fourth, fifth time that day, and Miles nearly slams his hands down on the desk before him to get it to shut up. But he doesn’t. The class is silent, pop quiz that nobody really cares about, and his spider-sense is thrumming like a steady pulse at the back of his head. It’s not even coming from one place, either, it’s telling him to dodge and to go over into that alley, that house, into Queens, Times Square-

 

He can’t get a solid read on the sixth sense and it’s driving him crazy. Instead of vocalising, Miles stares angrily at his pop quiz and the very few checkboxes he’s filled in and begins to aggressively scratch in some more boxes. His mind isn’t on it and he’s relying on probability to land him a decent fifty percent or more, but he can’t invest more of himself into it with his senses on overdrive like this. He wishes Peter B. was here to help him out a little with these things, or even Gwen, but they’re back in their own universes and now Miles has to figure these things out for himself.

 

Ganke tries to help when he can. Miles appreciates his best friend all the more for trying to understand his spider-powered roommate. It’s difficult when he stumbles in at 3 A.M., completely beaten and bruised, and Ganke has to help him stumble into bed and make sure he’s well. He appreciates the effort, and for it, he takes pictures of Brooklyn from the skyline and lets Ganke use them as lockscreens, to send to his friends and family, whatever he wants to do with them. Miles wants to be there for Ganke as much as Ganke is there for him.

 

And yeah, sometimes he pops down to Queens to check on Peter’s Aunt May. It’s the least he can do after that fight destroying the place, and… and after he watched her nephew get murdered. Miles feels he owes it to her sometimes to keep her company, because his own inaction is why Peter Parker’s chest was caved in like a crater and his eyes became stilled and lifeless, glazed and staring off in Miles’ general direction. She’s a lovely woman, he’s learned. Definitely didn’t and doesn’t deserve all the hardship she suffers. Miles swings by the place every now and then after patrol. She likes to make sure he’s well-fed; she likes to make sure he’s okay. She asks him about his uncle, how he feels about it, and she lets him cry on her shoulder on the bad days where all he can see is Aaron’s eyes losing their light, muddled by his own tears. She’s the one who pats his shoulders and tells him to get all the grief out, and he’s grateful for it. Miles understands that this is probably what she did after her Peter lost his uncle, too. May Parker likes to help him figure out the ins and outs of his powers, and they spend a lot of time down in the Spider-Shed. Sometimes Miles will look up into the eyes of the empty Spider-Man suit and notice how his reflection somehow seems more aligned with the suit than it was before.

 

And then… there’s his dad. After the supercollider, Miles knows he hadn’t been in good shape, but he wasn’t expecting his dad, the cop with the dislike for vigilantes, to be the one to make him feel better and take him to a hospital. He didn’t expect his dad to patch him up after he fell into the alley outside their house. He didn’t expect his dad to even  _ like  _ him as Spider-Man, but… stranger things have happened, and now it seems that the most anti-vigilante cop has a soft spot for him. And they’re beginning to rebuild his relationship, as Miles, not Spider-Man. All in all, a lot of things in his life are going well.

 

Except his spider-sense won’t shut up. It hasn’t all day. This is their last lesson, thank god, but the sense is screaming now and the clock is ticking, down, down, down, down, three, two, one, and-

 

The bell rings. Miles hastily stuffs his things into his bag and swipes up his paper, using his adhesive abilities more than his own grip, rests it gently on the teacher’s desk on top of all of the others and disappears into the crowd of students. Some kids still look at him oddly, which, looking back on it, yeah, that’s fair, but he ignores them in favour of pacing it to his room and locking the door. As per usual, Ganke is already there and typing some thesis on the computer. He looks up when Miles chucks his bag down and gives a small smile, to which Miles replies in kind and shrugs off his blazer. Sure, it’s a little early to begin a patrol, but also it’s Friday and Miles hasn’t got anywhere to be. He pulls on the suit -- heavy baby-powder on the joints, who knew that his janky hobo mentor could give long-lasting helpful advice while mid-burger -- and slips the mask over his face, willing his body to become transparent as he slips out of his window with a loud whoop.

 

Unfortunately, the spider-sense doesn’t die down in the night. Miles stops a mugging with ease, just some webbing over the mouth and hands to the floor, and it’s telling him to hang around by a powerline, oddly enough. Next is a carjacking, easy, catching the car was a little problematic but otherwise fine, too. The sense wanted him what felt like a few blocks away on a place he knows to be mostly rooftops. Miles feels himself becoming weighed down by guilt as he swings by Fisk tower, only able to see the collider and this universe’s gentle, caring Peter’s body stilling after a jerk and a series of deafening cracks in his mind’s eye. The sense almost wants him back down there, to which he firmly does  _ not _ want to do. So he swings away, eyes moist.

 

He takes perch on a nearby rooftop and just lingers for a while. The sense is starting to die down now, growing fainter, and Miles sighs in relief. Maybe he’s actually be able to sleep tonight.

 

It begins to scream out not seconds later. Miles is on his feet instantly, looking wildly around for something invisible. So this is how the criminals he fights feel, huh… it’s horrible. There’s rippling out of the corners of his eyes, multi-coloured translucent shapes starting to leak into his vision. Miles’ body goes cold. Oh, no. He’d hardly been able to stop Fisk last time with a whole team of Spider-People, now he’s- he’s on his own. Miles tenses and crouches low to the floor as he approaches the center of the distortion, down in the alley below. He drops down with practised ease and stares into the haze. It’s getting darker in the middle like it did in the collider.

 

He takes a few steps closer to the writhing haze of glitching matter, against his common sense and sanity.

 

_ duck _

 

And he does.

 

Just in time for a blue-energy bathed cannonball to be spat out of the portal, and for it to open up into a stable-looking shape. It’s like a very bizarrely covered oval, and when Miles dares to step an inch closer, he can see that same web among the stars that he saw in Fisk’s collider. It’s beautiful.

 

Then he remembers the thing that got spat out of the portal. Alarmed, Miles looks out of the alley onto the street where the blur had disappeared into, but… something drops from a billboard against a roof, hard enough that Miles can hear the resulting impact. His spider-sense is very much telling him to investigate the blob. It’s got direction now and it feels less vague, and Miles has to wonder if his spider-sense’s fritzing has been because of whatever that is, and man, how long has it been falling through the multiverse for? He feels bad for the dude. Thing.

 

Miles looks back at the portal, still there, for a few seconds longer before springing up onto the roof and swinging over to the rooftop where the blur had fallen onto. He hears groaning before he lands, almost familiar in tone, and he hastens to land. He looks up to the still-materialising shape of the blob, colours and images flickering off them in distorted patterns, before they finally solidify. The spider-sense tingles and seems to resonate with one belonging to the person, pressing against each other before fading away again. Miles stumbles back in shock when the person looks up at him, mask’s eyes apparently confused, and he’s greeted with the slightly-chunkier-than-normal shape of a round Spider-Man that could only be…

“Peter?!” He yells, incredulous, and the Spider-Man actually  _ blinks  _ before standing up to face him with arms outstretched.

“Ha-! Miles!” His voice is overjoyed, and when the older man yanks his mask off to reveal a few patchy bruises, likely from his crash, Miles can’t help but snort. That is, before the reality of this situation crashes into him.

“What the hell, man?! Get back in the portal, man, you’re gonna die here!” He tries to drag his hobo mentor back, but the older Spider-Man is planted firmly where he stands, staring in awe, apparently, at Brooklyn. Miles keeps a concerned eye on the eerie glow coming from that back alley, making sure it doesn’t collapse and leave his mentor stranded here to die in agony.

“It’s never gonna stop bein’ weird how much this place feels like home, y’know?” Miles pauses. 

“No. I don’t know, Peter, now- back in the portal, please-” He tries dragging Peter again, but it doesn’t work and Miles has half a mind to just venom strike the guy unconscious so he can save his life.

“It’s still open?”

“Yeah?”

“Then I don’t think it’s gonna close, bud.” Peter looks across to him, eye lenses wide and curious. “How you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m… I’m fine, but… how did you get here? We shut down the collider, so how… why…? Aren’t you glitching? How is this even possible?” He doesn’t even notice when Peter walks over and crouches down next to him, gently lifting the black material of the mask away from his face. Miles feels himself reflexively blink out of sight as a response to the unmasking, and Peter chuckles quietly.

“Got that whole thing under control, huh…? ‘m proud of you, bud.”

“Oh- I’m… thanks, man, but…”

“I’ll be fine, Miles. I’ve had worse.” That doesn’t really make him feel much better, actually, because all he can see painted behind his eyelids are flashes of his universe’s Peter’s blond hair splayed against dead machinery, a burst chest that was obviously pulverised, flat when it should have been firm, that steady trickle of blood from his mouth and the lifeless stare burning from those empty blue eyes into Miles’ soul- that Peter Parker died, he can’t let this one go through the same because he’s ‘had worse’, not now, not  _ ever _ again! Not again.

“I can’t watch Peter Parker die again. I…” He blinks back tears with unnecessary ferocity when Peter’s hand lands on his shoulder roughly, dragging him back to reality. The other Spider’s eyes are warm albeit worried, and Miles can instantly tell that his panic had been too obvious.

“I’m not going to die, Miles. Don’t worry.”

 

It doesn’t comfort him as much as Miles thinks Peter had wanted it to. He swipes at his wet eyes and sniffs before sharply launching himself off the side of the building and beginning to web-sling. He can hear Peter behind him, catching up quickly with acrobatic flips that had been absent the last time they met. They’re side-by-side in seconds. Miles just focuses on the streets beneath him, and the people chattering peacefully, until his emotions die down to a place where he knows he won’t blow up and he feels he can look Peter in the face without seeing the hollow stare of his doppelganger. 

“Where’re we going, bud?” Peter mumbles softly, but clearly enough for him to hear. Miles thinks. Where is he going? Not home to Dad and Mom, not back to school. His head’s a little bit of a mess, to be honest. He didn’t think this could ever happen and he doesn’t know what to do.

 

But May would.

“Peter’s- your Aunt May’s house. She’ll want to see you, man.” He can nearly hear his chubby-mentor’s face fall. He remembers that while this May lost her Peter, this Peter lost his May. It’s painful for them both, but… Miles is pretty sure it might help them both. Just a little. So he quickens his pace and uses the slightness of his frame to slip through some shortcuts that Peter only just manages to make as well.

“May… Miles, bud, I’m not-”

“She’ll be happy, Peter.”

His mentor doesn’t reply. Instead, they both land silently outside the street light illuminated pavement, and Miles webs the doorbell much like Gwen had previously. He kinda misses his Spider-People, to be honest. Miles finds himself shivering slightly after a few minutes of waiting. It’s getting to the winter now and it’s  _ freezing  _ all the time.

 

Peter pulls him a little closer, and Miles snuggles into the warmth instead or wriggling away like he usually would. He can’t help it. A major bonus of Peter being… a little extra insulated… is that he’s warm most of the time.

“Peter…?” Miles blinks his heavy eyelids open when he hears May’s soft, confused voice from the house’s doorway. The sadness in her tone is profound and it makes his eyes sting.

“Hi again, Aunt May.”

“Oh- Miles. You’re here too? Come in, you two.” Miles keeps in-step with Peter as they walk so he can retain some of his mentor’s body heat, and if he feels Peter’s arm wrap around him, he doesn’t mind. His spider-mentor / spider-dad…? Whatever he is, Miles appreciates the contact. It’s a much better thought than the cold, lifeless body of blond Peter. He’s set down on the couch with Peter’s coat strewn over the top of him, so he snuggles into the material and curls up into the corner of the plush surface while tiredly listening to Peter and May talk quietly. They’re trying to not wake him up and really, he appreciates it. It’s always nice when he goes to sleep at May’s, because it just feels very strangely homely to him and he knows that if his nightmares, things like blond Peter’s body, or Uncle Aaron trying to kill him, or Kingpin’s hulking figure towering over him… if they wake him up, May always knows how to get him back to sleep. Usually with cocoa. He wonders if the cocoa trick worked with May’s Peter, too. Maybe it’s a Spider-Person thing, he sleepily ponders.

 

He feels the couch dip, and he falls towards the weight. He could always catch himself before hitting Peter, but he’s really tired from all these all-night patrol nights, and… yeah.

“Hey, bud. Go back to sleep.” He feels something land gently on top of Peter’s coat, and distantly, he thinks it might be a blanket. The fluffy fabric tickles at his nose and he has an urge to sneeze all of a sudden. His head is lifted and something comfy is rested underneath it, and for a second, Miles is back at bed in his home, drifting off peacefully. It’s a pleasant thought.

 

The other pleasant thing… his spider-sense has died down completely, apparently lulled to sleep by the presence of another Spider-Person nearby. His brain’s all foggy now, and it’s really nice. He doesn’t notice that he’s wriggling further into Peter’s side, nestling up close to his spider-dad-mentor, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind and Miles is so, so comfortable right now.

 

Briefly, he wonders when his life got so bizarre that he’d be using Spider-Man as a pillow, but he quickly figures out that it’s the same source of most weirdness. Radioactive spiders. When Miles drifts off, he’s still using his hobo mentor as a pillow, and neither of them really mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: 'bud' is such a peter thing PETER IS A DAD L E T HIM BE A D A D


	4. Don't be a stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lights are confounding, beautiful, and he can’t stop the awe from filling him to the brim with energy he hasn’t felt since he was a child.
> 
>  
> 
> OR, Spider-Man Noir finds himself in an unfamiliar but so well-known New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's him, the man, the emo, my baby, NOIR

His eyes open slowly, and the first and only indicator that this place is not the right place, no, universe, is that it’s shining in bright colours, or at least that’s what Peter thinks this whole, blinding scene might be. He stands upright, brushing dust off of his monochromatic suit, staring up into the wondrous world that surrounds him. He wishes these sights had a name, all these amazing, wonderful lights; he wishes he knew all their names so he could feel them rolling on his tongue. It’s so different to home, to his New York, so vibrant and full of life and thrumming like a pulse beneath his fingertips. Something bright, something lively and taxi-shaped and warm like nectar is rushing towards him, so Peter leaps up and webs himself onto the surface of a nearby building. The lights are confounding, beautiful, and he can’t stop the awe from filling him to the brim with energy he hasn’t felt since he was a child.

 

Peter blinks, shakes his head. No. He needs to focus up, he needs to figure out which universe he’s in. This isn’t his. New York should be filled with black and white and morally ambiguous gray, shades slicing in between, but this… there’s so much. Peter thinks. It isn’t his, and guessing from the way it doesn’t appear to be soft-shaped and cartoonish like his anthropomorphic, animated friend Spider-Ham, it isn’t Porker’s world either. That leaves only Peter B. Parker’s world, Miles Morales’ world, or Gwen Stacy’s world. He wishes he knew more about what they looked like -- after all, there’s universes of difference between them all.

 

Peter closes his eyes and buttons his coat closed, focusing deeply on his spider-sense to guide him to this universe’s spider-person. The throbbing, gray-white-and-black portal that spat him out is still present behind him. He could go back right now, to safety. To home. But he wouldn’t be here unless it were for a reason, the universe wouldn’t have pulled him from home to here if he didn’t have a purpose. So, with conviction running gray through his blood, Peter leaps up and follows the winding instinct through the streets of Brooklyn. He swings past a bright, so bright building that he feels is important somehow, nestled onto the crowded street and oh-so unassuming, but keeps going. His fellow spider is not there. 

 

He winds up in a cacophonic, bright, chaotic Times Square before he knows it, miraculous devices advertising products he doesn’t even understand, cars racing past, sounds blaring, and he sticks onto the side of a building. His spider-sense is telling him that the spider-person is swinging this way, getting closer by the second, and he’s more than content to wait.

 

Finally, the black-silhouetted form of a Spider-Person appears, bathed in shadows like his world at home. Then the shadows recoil to give way to the lights and colours, and he’s staring at the homemade, spray-paint suited form of Miles Morales’ Spider-Man.

“Hey, fella.” Is what he says, like those months ago in Aunt May’s spider-shed, hanging up high with the wind making his coat billow out behind him. Miles appears to jolt, flickering invisible briefly with some light emanating from his palms, before he seems to catch sight of Peter and calms down, swinging over.

“Noir?!” Peter tilts his head in affirmation. Yes, right- Noir. He’s called Spider-Man Noir here. Fair enough. Miles swings down onto the roof of the building he is on gracefully and lifts his mask slightly, exposing confused eyes. Noir tries to crack a small smile. Truly, he isn’t used to this expression. He’s not got much cause to do it at home.

“Man, when did you-? First it was janky hobo Peter, now you’re here, too?” Peter jolts at Miles’ words.

“Peter B? He was here?” It might just be because technically they  _ are _ the same person, but Peter feels a little closer to Peter B. than the others. Maybe it’s because they’re both, apparently, ‘sad brooding types’.

“Yeah, like… last week. He saw May, it was cool. Then he went home. Wait, where’s your portal?!” Peter closes his eyes, lets his mind tug on the thread linking him to home. It vibrates sharply, and he knows it’s still strong and intact. It hasn’t been severed like it had been with the collider; he’s in control of his connection to his universe. It’s pleasing.

“I can still feel it. It’s open.”

“Oh, okay. Okay. Well- I’m not meant to come off patrol for another few hours, wanna join in?” Peter nods and pats his gun against his thigh. Suddenly, Miles seems affronted, and he wonders what he’s done wrong before he remembers that the other Spider-People tend to use non-lethal force at most, if not all, times. He covers it with his cloak.

“No pistol, right?”

“Yeah, no- not here. I’m still on thin ice with the cops for being a vigilante, and all that stuff.” Miles seems somewhat embarrassed now, a small hand coming up to his neck, rubbing the spot awkwardly. Peter remembers the day this child had found out his Uncle was the Prowler, and then lost him. He’d said a cop had seen him with the body. Not good for his image. Miles seems a little awkward now. He should fix that.

“Could you tell me the colours?” He asks, and Miles looks up sharply, eyes widening before understanding dawns in them. He watches a small, black-suited finger point to the spider emblem on his chest.

“This one is red. Like, uh- like blood. Blood is red. Sometimes the sun can be red. Roses are red. Peter B’s suit is red and blue. Uh…” They begin swinging, and Peter listens intently as Miles points out objects and gives their light a name. The taxis are yellow, bright yellow, like sunflowers, like the sun. Trees are usually green, like grass and most plants. Green is a life-colour, Miles tells him, most green things are living. Blue is the colour of the sky when there are no clouds, Miles tells him as they swing past an empty alleyway, blackness being interrupted by the light that Miles calls orange, but that’s not a nice shade of orange, apparently. Peter thinks it’s quite a pleasing colour. Then again, he thinks they all are. It’s very interesting to learn. All these colours. Purple is red and blue mixed together, it’s a really nice colour according to Miles. Pink is red and white. Roses can be pink, too. Brown is the colour of tree bark and hot chocolate. It’s so beautiful.

 

Miles’ helpful explanation is cut short when a scream reaches their ears. Peter can feel their spider-senses resonating on each other and strengthening, and they swing down into the alley quickly. A woman with bright red lipstick, an orange skirt, a shirt that might be yellow, is being harangued by a man in black. The night-man attacks the sunset-woman with ferocity that unsettles Peter, and he’s quick to try an intervene. He sees Miles flicker out of sight in the corners of his eyes.

 

The shadow-man pulls out a gun and the situation comes to a halt, impossibly slow. Peter holds up his hands as a warning to the attacker. The woman is behind him, cowering, but he can see her being pulled to her feet by nothing. Miles helps her up and whispers for her to run, to keep running until she’s somewhere public and safe, and she does. The man isn’t pleased. He whirls around and the gunshot makes Peter’s heart jolt. Miles is out of sight once more. The pounding of his heart slows as he rushes forward and tackles the gun out of the man’s hands, webbing him down to the floor mercilessly.

 

But the woman is safe, and the man is taken out. So everything is good. Miles flickers back into sight next to him, breaths a little winded from his adrenaline, probably, and Peter turns to face him. In the orange light of the streetlamp, he can see a new colour on Miles’ suit.

 

Bright red, like the lipstick. This one is red, like blood.

 

Blood.

 

Miles gasps. Stumbles. Peter catches him hastily. Suddenly, his relief is dread and he’s lying Miles down on the floor, well worn instincts telling him to staunch the blood flow. It’s worse in colour, he realises, it’s worse to see this shock of red leaking onto the gray, grimy floor; it’s worse to see Miles’ blood leak from his body in colour than in grayscale. 

 

Peter shucks off his trenchcoat, revealing the suit he prefers to keep hidden, and presses it against the vague area where the bullet would have punctured. He needs to get somewhere where Miles can get treatment, he needs to find somewhere to save Miles.

 

May. He needs to get to Queens. 

 

Peter scoops up Miles, blood turning cold at the slight whimper that escapes him, and sprints -- actually sprints, using all of his strength to propel himself forward at superhuman speeds. He doesn’t often do this, it’s tiring when he can’t afford to be, but he can’t afford to be slow, either, not with Miles in danger. The familiar building, painted in colours and brightness, comes into sight quickly. Peter knocks, hard enough to crack the glass, and frantically drums his fingers against Miles’ side. He can see May’s silhouette approaching, too slowly, come on-

 

“Miles-?” She sees the lump in his arms, eyes growing wide and almost panicked. “Come in,  _ now.  _ Peter- bring him in to the kitchen, lay him down on the table. Quickly.” 

 

May quickly clears the surface of the table of the fruit basket and puts it to one side as Peter lowers Miles down onto the white sheet and pulls his trenchcoat off of him. May is cutting the suit around the wound before he even knows it, exposing the small hole to sight as it bubbles blood down, staining the sheet. It’s a shock of crimson on brightness, red roses among white daisies. 

 

He’s seen people die from wounds like this, frothing blood leaking down, red-spotted coughs. Peter’s chest twists painfully. He can’t lose a figure he’s come to consider as a younger brother. Miles is so young, so small, and he’s hurt badly. It doesn’t sit well with him, and he wishes Miles hadn’t enforced the no-guns rule on him.

 

He grabs the smaller Spider-Man’s hand and squeezes it tightly whenever he feels Miles might be falling asleep. He can’t let that happen. He watches a twisted metal hunk be pulled out of the wound, rested down on the table, and then the wound is being stitched back up. It’s not pretty. It really isn’t, and it’s going to leave a scar, but it’s closed and the bullet is out so Miles should start healing now, right?

 

May walks over to him, gloved hands bloody. How many times did she do this for her Peter? Her eyes are soft, hurt, and she pulls the glove off before resting her hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna be okay, Peter. Miles is going to be fine. Would you like to help me bandage him up? I might need your hands.”

 

How could he say no to that?

 

He doesn’t really do much, May has the expertise and ability when it comes to this. He holds Miles’ body up slightly as deft fingers duck underneath Miles to trail the bandages around the gauze pad fixed on top of the wound, securing it, and watches May work her magic. Soon, the wound is hidden beneath white, a little pink seeping through, and Miles appears to be asleep. His heart sounds normal, maybe a little quick, but in rhythm and healthy. Good. 

 

Peter, with time, is prompted by May to move Miles onto her Peter’s old bed upstairs. Miles is small in his grip, sleeping soundly, and when he rests his smaller Spider-brother down on the bed, he can’t ignore his urge to swathe the small form in blankets. He takes all the fluffy ones out of the cupboards and tucks them around Miles, making a little nest for the hero, and makes sure he’s as comfortable as he can be for having recently been shot. 

 

There’s a slight trembling downstairs; he can feel it in his bones. He slides down stairs silently, and his portal, gray and black and white, is on the kitchen wall. He blinks. That’s odd, even for his life. Then comes the sharp pain he’s come to associate with glitching, and he wheezes. He needs to go home soon.

 

He waits until Miles begins to stir, rolling over roughly, before he leaps back into his portal. He knows Miles is alright now, and while he wanted to stay longer, he couldn’t. Not really. Besides, he thinks, looking up at the grayscale form of New York, he has a feeling that won’t be the last time the universe breaks to let him see his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> him Dad


	5. I said, "I got you now"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter B. Parker looks up and sees a universe that isn't his own, he's got two things on his mind. One: what the hell is wrong with the universe, and is it going to kill me? Two: this is Miles' universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> him daaaaaaad, it heeeeeeee, a DAD

Peter wakes up with a helluva headache, a mouthful of bloody saliva, and he's falling from a brightly coloured billboard. He tries to swing out a webline before his spine meets its end once more against the concrete below him, and only just manages it, being jerked to the side harshly. The movement jars his shoulder and really, wow, what the hell did he do? Drink a sedative? Eat a pizza that was spiked with something? Briefly die? All of the above?

 

With a groan, he adheres himself to the side of whatever he's stuck to and looks out upon apparently not New York city. This is much more of a Brooklyn looking place.

 

Peter feels a splitting grin come to his bruised face. If the portal -- he looks back to the portal, red and blue flickering with spider-webbing cracks spreading out into the surrounding area -- spat him out here, this is probably Miles' dimension again, and that means he gets to see Miles again. That means he can spend a little bit longer with Miles, maybe do a patrol with him, hang around for a while before his portal demands he return home to MJ. First, he just needs to find the little Spider-baby.

 

Peter stands up and stretches from where he's adhered to the building. He catches his reflection in the glass, and has to be proud for a second. He looks much more… himself now. He's been trying to make things better with MJ, and after coming to the revelation in the collider that he maybe wouldn't mind having a kid… it's been slow work, but he's pretty sure he's starting to reconnect with her. She's kind of distant but really, Peter deserves that for all he pulled on her before the split. Before it all went wrong. Peter twists his body, checking himself out once more. His hobo-belly (as Miles had sleepily called it after dozing off) has shrunk slightly, fading into something slightly firmer. It hasn't completely gone yet, though, because he's not the young buck he used to be and shedding those pounds is turning out to be much harder than putting them on has ever been. He lifts his mask quickly, meeting his reflection. He's growing stubble and needs to shave, but he can't remember the last time the bags under his eyes were this faint. Who would have thought it -- ever since reconnecting with MJ, he's pulling himself back together. He's a changed man.

 

A changed man on a mission. Peter pulls his mask back down and leaps from the building, contorting his body to be able to safely swing before he hits the floor or a building. This Brooklyn is so much nicer than his own; it seems so much more vibrant and lively. In fact, everything in this dimension feels that way. Bright and hopeful and young and powerful. Peter huffs a laugh, flips, and webs faster towards where his spidey-sense is telling him Miles is. He’s swiftly navigating the streets, hopping over cars, vaulting from street lights and generally being much more active and happy than he has been in a long, long time. He tries to keep from the eyes of the public a little more -- he’s very much not in sweatpants but instead his full, clean, intact suit, and he’s very much aware that this universe’s Peter Parker was exposed as Spider-Man and murdered. He doesn’t need people freaking out about him being undead or whatever. It’d be _weird._

 

Peter springs from signs and billboards in pursuit of his spidey-sense, listening to it as it tugs him forward like he’s tied to the end of some yarn. Abruptly, it tells him he needs to be dipping between those two buildings on the crowded street, the building that feels oddly homely and the painfully average one next door with all the stickers on the dumpster between. Peter drops into the alleyway, hackles raised, as he prowls forward with silent steps; a silent predator. He looks around, spidey-sense twitching warily at the back of his head, around the black walls of the alley and the heaped trash bags lining the place. The alley seems to come to a dead end about fifteen, twenty meters in, brick wall towering upwards. He’s about to leave; about to slink back off and maybe question if he still has his spidey-sense when he hears it.

 

A little, quiet, choppy breath; a sniffle. He focuses on the noise for anything else. Rustling, a poorly muffled whimper. Peter’s spine straightens in worry. Maybe he started doubting his spidey-sense a few minutes too soon, because if he’s a predator, then the sniffling, curled up form tucked away between the dumpster and the trash bag is definitely something he needs to protect. Peter drops into a low crouch, creeping forward using his fingertips to balance and mute any potential noises, and gently shifts one of the bags out of the way. It exposes what looks to be a leg to view, black suit slightly torn up. It’s seen better days.

 

Miles has seen better days.

 

Peter curses under his breath and chucks one, two, four bags aside, exposing the slouched, small, curled form of Miles Morales to view. For some reason, the sight makes his heart wrench in his chest. He’s scanning his eyes over what he can see of Miles for any injury, but it’s much too dark in the alley to see anything clearly. Peter twitches forward, a panicked hand lifting Miles’ mask up. He just- he needs to make sure he’s not concussed or anything. He needs to make sure the kid’s still _there._

“Peter…?” He watches recognition spark in Miles’ eyes (right alongside the light he’s come to recognise as a building venom strike) and shuffles a little bit closer, effortlessly pushing the dumpster an inch or two to the left so he can get his arms around Miles to pick him up, if necessary. His voice was a little hoarse. Peter swallows harshly. How long has Miles been waiting in this dump pile, waiting for help?

 _“Miles._ Hey, bud. You alright?” He wants to huff a laugh almost instantly afterward. No, it’s clear that Miles is very much not alright. Why’d he even ask? “What are you doin’ in an alley? Not judging, I’ve been in my fair share of alleys, too.”

“This is- uh- _ow-_ this is… m’house. When I get hurt I… I come here. Dad fixes me. But- he’s out. And I can’t move.” Miles finishes, voice trembling quietly. It makes Peter kind of want to scoop him up and cover him in blankets until he’s healed again. He looks across the alleyway to the door by the kitchen, and wonders how many times Miles has crept in there for his dad to patch up, none the wiser that it’s his son he’s taking bullets out of.

 

He really hopes Miles hasn’t been shot. Just because he’s taken up the Spider-Man role with renewed vigour doesn’t mean he’s above punching the lights out of some bad guys. At this rate, he might need to assemble every spider-person they met last time to help them fight the people who hurt Miles. Speaking of…

 

Peter worms his arms under the smallest Spider-Man and scoops him up so Miles rests against his chest, like a baby. He tries not to hear the quiet, hurt noises Miles is making; the little breathless whimpers and wobbling gasps that feel like gunshots in his heart.

“You might wanna cling on, Miles. MJ says that this isn’t a fun ride if you’re not swinging.” Peter looks up to the top of the alley, where the walls cease reaching up and the night sky lurks. He could walk straight up it, even with Miles’ (minimal) weight on him, but he needs to get to Aunt May’s house all the way in Queens for Miles. That means it’s swinging, which probably isn’t safe for Miles’ injury which he hasn’t assessed yet, but he’s got little time to make a decision and _fuck,_ why does being Spider-Man include so many stupid situations like this?

 

If he knows what the injury is, he’ll have to swing anyway. Miles is in more danger if he waits. So, with that tense, shrivelled up sense of anxiety making a home in his chest, Peter shoots a web onto a distant building, one arm wrapped around Miles’ back (just in case the kid isn’t already sticking to him), and begins the journey to May’s. It’s much shorter by web, which is the only pro in the situation, but he can feel Miles beginning to shudder against him, seemingly wracked with pain, and that minor victory melts away into determination that just happens to taste slightly like terror.

 

The question of ‘what hurt Miles’ is answered in the form of mumbling against his chest. It’s quiet, nearly a whisper, but he can still hear the emotional, terrified whisper of, “This- th’s is how Uncle Aaron felt. ‘m _scared,_ Peter. ‘m scared.”

 

Bullet wound.

 

It’d be fair to say he shits himself, and very nearly misses his next web entirely; torn between his urge to hurry up and get to May’s, or hug Miles and offer some form of comfort. He forgot, he forgot that Miles had watched his Uncle be shot after nearly being murdered by said man, and watched the guy bleed to death in front of him. He’s younger than Peter was when he lost Ben. It had been so messed up, Miles’ Uncle being the Prowler that had nearly killed him several times previously, and then Miles watched him die straight after that. Peter tightens the grip his one arm has around Miles, pressing the child closer to him with little regard to the blood he’s going to be getting on his suit. Miles is more important.

“You’re gonna be alright, Miles, you know why? You’re Spider-Man, and we’re _really_ annoying. We’re more like cockroaches. You’re gonna live because you’ve got more people to annoy as Spider-Man, and I’m not gonna let you die because you’re just a kid who could deck me with ease and has a built-in taser function and also there’s a slight chance that I might steal you because my spidey-sense says I should.” He’s rambling. Shit. “Hang in there Miles, you hear me? I’ve gotcha. You’re gonna be fine, I got you.”

 

May’s house is within sight. Peter feels hope, sharp and flaring, rip up through him as he begins these final, lurching swings, Miles close to his chest where he can hear the little spider’s heartbeat (fluttering, too fast), and then the ground is beneath him and no, he isn’t gonna knock at May’s door because Miles is bleeding in his arms. He’s kicked down his share of doors, if this one hasn’t already been Peter-Proofed, he can fix it if he breaks it.

 

The door lurches open after a single, sharp kick, easily one of his hardest in a while. The wood doesn’t splinter and the glass doesn’t crack. May definitely Peter-Proofed it then. But that’s not what’s important, what’s important is how he can feel Miles’ blood starting to smear on his suit. It’s cold and tacky and disgusting but it’s Miles’ so he needs to put his dislike of the substance to the side to fix the problem. Easy peasy.

“May!” He yells out. Miles’ head shifts from where it rests on his shoulders. Peter finds himself cooing, oddly enough, to soothe the injured boy.

 

It takes a split second for May to appear after that, baseball bat in hand and primed to hit someone -- he raises both eyebrows under the mask --, before her eyes zero in on Miles and her expression changes from blank to deeply worried. The bat falls from her hands.

“Again-? Peter, it’s nice to see you again. Bring him here, please. Kitchen table. What is it with you Peters finding Miles battered like this…?” The kitchen is rapidly divested of its normal decorations and is replaced by medkit upon medkit, enough equipment that he’d almost grow worried if the last resident of this house hadn’t been a Spider-Man. He lays Miles down on the table with May’s words floating about his head.

 _“‘Us Peters’?_ As in, there’s been more of me here?” There’s only Spider-Ham and Noir to have arrived here; they’re the only other Peter’s from the multiverse event. Unless the dimensional instability and portals that have been spreading from here have started affecting other universes, too.

“Noir Peter, yes. Miles got shot on their patrol a few months ago. You’re not the only Spider-Person who’s been falling back into this universe.”

 

Miles has been shot before?!

 

Peter paces up and down along the length of the room as May works, up the walls, onto the ceiling, and keeps moving back and forth to help keep his mind distracted. He tries not to look down as May works because really, he doesn’t want to see a bullet hole punched clean into Miles, not after Ben, not ever in general. Bullets in his loved ones has just… never been fun to think about or, y’know, see at an impressionable age. Peter just doesn’t like guns in general. Too much damage from such a small weapon. Back and forth on the ceiling a few more times, eyes unfocused as his mind runs through all the different things he can force through there to distract himself from Miles beneath him. It seems like May has some kind of painkiller that works on Miles’ metabolism though, which is amazing and a medical breakthrough because _he_ never had painkillers that worked, because the little Spider-Man doesn’t stir the entire time, expression lax and peaceful. For one horrifying moment he’ll never forget, he’d looked down and thought Miles was gone, looking at his face; at the blood on May’s gloves. That moment had passed when she gestured for him to hop down from the ceiling and help her start packing all the medical equipment away. He’d done it gladly, and not just because he wants to keep his mind off things. It’s nice to help Aunt May again, even if she isn’t _his_ Aunt May. He misses her so, so much; just things as simple as her voice and her hair and the smell of the hot chocolate she knows how to make _just_ right so that he can doze back off after a bad nightmare. He wonders if those are universal traits for May Parker across the multiverse.

 

Peter stands by the foot of the table next to Miles for a few minutes after that, uncertain of what he should do next. He couldn’t leave Miles here on the table but he doesn’t want to like, screw up the stitches or hurt the kid even more.

“You could take him to Peter’s room, if you’d like.” Comes May’s soft voice. Her eyes are searching his, warm with that motherly concern he misses so, so bad, and he nearly tears up for a second. Actually, he does, sniffing abruptly and straightening out his posture. He gently shifts Miles into an awkward, messy bridal carry and even more awkwardly shifts him up the stairs, careful not to knock any of those skinny, gangly limbs on the walls or the handrail on the way up. He has to gently nudge the door open with his foot, and when he does, nostalgia softly delivers a crushing impact to his chest.

 

The room looks so much like his did, before he moved out. It’s clear that Peter Parker lived here. There are scientific posters and band merchandise on the walls, the occasional picture of MJ. The skyline of New York with a blazing red sun casting rose-light over the snow. An old, well-loved picture of his parents -- _parents_ parents, like, Richard and Mary Parker parents -- on their wedding day, bright smiles not diminished in the slightest by the older technology. May and Ben next to a small, bony blond Peter Parker. The wall is his entire life, but it’s not. A trophy on the dresser that he won in a robot building contest at age… fifteen, sixteen, maybe? He can’t remember. Harry Osborn grinning at him, flipping him off. Gwen Stacy’s beautiful smile. A web-print covered hand with the middle finger extended at the distant Daily Bugle building.

 

His wedding to MJ.

 

Peter shakes his head slightly and turns away from the pictures, refocusing his attention on Miles, napping peacefully in his arms, likely zoinked out by painkillers and exhaustion. Peter smiles crookedly at the child and lifts up the comforter to gently lays him down on the mattress. He makes sure to tuck the comforter around Miles’ body, just to make sure he’s not too cold up here (he knows how Spider-People don’t thermoregulate), before slinking back downstairs to where May is waiting. Her eyes are sad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to drop Peter’s life on you like that.” She sounds so forlorn that Peter can’t help stepping forward a few times and wrapping his Aunt into a hug. It’s times like this that he misses her the most, and she must be weeping for her Peter. Peter shakes his head, tearful.

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine. I just… didn’t realise how similar we’d be.” It’s not very convincing and he knows it. It’s all he’s got though, so it’ll have to do.

“Neither did I.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt May.”

“It’s… Peter knew the risks. I just didn’t think… but that’s enough of that. If I know my nephew… would you like a hot chocolate?”

Peter feels a large, wobbling, definitely unsteady grin rise up onto his face, vision still hazy. It’s a hell of a way to try and get past their collective grief over their losses.

“You know it, Aunt May.” He follows her into the kitchen and stands by the table, not sitting down yet because he can still see Miles on it in his mind, and after less than three minutes, a steaming mug of hot chocolate is rested next to him. He wraps his hands around it and inhales deeply. It brings the moisture back to his eyes within seconds. He hasn’t had hot chocolate like this since May passed away, and to have it now… well, he hadn’t realised just how much his soul still ached over her loss.

 

That’s a lie, he’s reminded every time he goes to sleep.

 

He sips it lightly. It’s exactly how he remembers it. It tastes like home, like memories of being under dozens of blankets in the Winter and May laughing at his cocooned state, like Ben congratulating him on a science test. Like the cozy drinks at MJ’s apartment before he proposed. It’s so impossibly warm.

“There’s blood on your suit, Peter.” May says quietly as he stares deeply into the mug. He jolts, and looks down. Yeah, she’s right. A lot of Miles’ blood has stained the lower left side of his suit. It feels nasty.

“Yeah, there is… thank you for patching him up, Aunt May. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, Peter, but… would you like me to wash your suit? You can borrow some of- some of Peter’s clothes from upstairs while it’s in the machine.” He sips from the mug again, and thinks about it. He doesn’t feel jittery and unstable like he did the first time he was here; he hasn’t glitched yet. The portal follows him whenever he’s stationary for more than a few hours and he can still feel his connection to his universe thrumming in his mind. It doesn’t feel like he’ll need to leave for a while, yet, so…

“That’d be amazing, Aunt May. You said the clothes are in…?” He drains the rest of the mug, even the dregs, and stands up, cracking his spine in the process. May winces slightly. Her Peter hadn’t been as old and battered as he is, right.

“Peter’s room. Try not to wake up Miles. He needs to rest.” She takes the mug from his hands and rests it in the sink gently, resting her hands at Peter’s shoulder blades to nudge him back up the stairs. He laughs quietly and goes up, light footed and treading silently. He pushes open the door to Miles’ room.

 

He’s rolled over, but he hasn’t woken up yet. Peter lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding and snags the first anything he can from the clothing drawer -- sweatpants, a gray hoodie. Looks like this Peter had his off-days, too. They’re warm and thick, fleece lined, he discovers as he shimmies them on in place of his suit and bundles the material up into his arms, careful not to stain the gray with the blood. May takes it from him with a small laugh, and then- he’s shuffling the blankets he saw when picking out his outfit and gently resting them over Miles, where the comforter had hitched up to expose his leg. He’s actually pretty tired, all things considered, and he can’t sleep on the couch like the hobo Miles insists he is, nor could he live with taking May’s. He reaches down and nudges Miles’ shoulder slightly.

 

This is not because the protective instincts in his chest haven’t dimmed in the slightest. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to say that he wants to turn the blanket pile he’s holding into a little nest and protect Miles with his body, if needs be.

“Hey, Miles.” He whispers. He watches Miles’ face twitch, seemingly irritated, before an eye opens to look at his. It’s clear the younger Spider-Man is still very much asleep. Peter definitely doesn’t want to keep him safe like that forever. Definitely not. Oh- who is he kidding, he does.

“Budge up, buddy, I’m crashing here.” Miles grunts and rolls over again, leaving a small gap for Peter to fit into before he rolls back over, nestled into his chest. Peter stills as Miles shifts, seemingly displeased until he’s using Peter’s arm as a cushion and he’s beginning to realise that he’s got no way out of this impromptu blanket fort. Peter sighs, a sound that could almost be a laugh because man, Miles is super clingy, and gives in to the cuddle. Whatever. He’s a man of many hobbies and yes, cuddling with the Spider-Man who he might want to adopt is becoming a new favourite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noir may be a dad but peter bitch parker is the DADDEST OF DADS


	6. baby you're a wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Peter have both fallen into Miles' universe. It seems to Miles like he shouldn't have been surprised that this Spider-Person happens to be a change of pace from overprotective Spider-Men to an overprotective Spider-Woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> g   
> w  
> a  
> n  
> d  
> a

Running.

 

She’s running, sprinting, vaulting from the pavement, the walls, the street lamps, and she’s climbing higher and higher and higher before…

 

Nothing. 

 

Gwen falls through the sky, gravity gently pulling her back down towards the earth, and she’s  _ seeing.  _ Her world, all mute pink, violet, teal tones, the sky an open haven ready for her to fall into, the bores of regular life so far away they could be a different person’s entirely. What matters now is that she’s weightless, she’s got the thrill of adrenaline dancing through her veins, setting her muscles and nerves alight, and she’s so  _ alive _ that it hurts. Her heart pounds in rhythm with her soul, music blaring through the headphones under her hood. She shoots a web and lurches to the side, throwing her weight forward and pitching back up into the sky once more. Gwen doesn’t look down to what’s below her, nor does she look at the skyscrapers, she just  _ moves. _ It’s freeing. Moving has always been an escape. Run from her problems until she can’t any longer, dance with fervour that puts the greatest to shame.  _ Live  _ with the energy that Peter would want her to.

 

The energy he can’t have. The energy she stopped him from ever having.

 

Gwen huffs a sigh, downcast suddenly. Swinging doesn’t seem as freeing anymore, no, and the world has shifted from a rose-pink sunset to the encroaching inky-black of the night, murky clouds crawling up over the horizon. When her current, pendulum-like arc comes to an end, she rolls into a landing position with the grace she’s trained so hard to gain, and keeps en pointe. It aches, but it gives her a little extra height to look out on New York with. For a place so full of life, it just feels… kind of  _ empty. _ Just a little bit. She still has dad, yeah, and she- god, after nearly losing him, it’s made clear to her that family takes this massive, massive priority over everything else, and especially after Peter, but… she misses her  _ other _ family, too. Her group of estranged, weird, frankly messed up Spider-People who are so  _ different _ but understand each other so well.

 

A small gasp escapes her, a hand coming up to rest against the back of her neck, at the telltale, much stronger than usual tugging of the spider-sense. It’s nearly spasming, demanding she take notice and she take notice  _ now,  _ because she turns around, and New York is gone. There’s a brief moment of cascading terror, fear lapping at her body with the ferocity of the ocean and she’s falling; the ground beneath her feet is no longer dark and gravelly but  _ completely non-existent,  _ replaced with the gaping chasm of space, stars peppering the void, and a spider’s web covering the expanse, layer by layer, all different colours until it’s spanning everything in sight and then some. It’s beautiful; it’s terrifying; it’s  _ everything.  _ And yet it’s nothing.

 

Gwen isn’t a stranger to falling, god no. But this kind is different. That might just be because she’s falling through the multiverse and seeing all these potential lives she could have lived, could have died, but… it’s falling nonetheless and she knows what to do when she falls.

 

She’s got to pick herself back up again. As soon as she knows where she’s being spat out into, and can see the ground again… that’s when she can save herself. And that’s fine. 

 

It’s not cold in this place. There’s no wind brushing past her as she falls. Her spider-sense is still going crazy and her headphones are still pumping out music, so it could almost be fun. She’s about to start recording the experience when she’s spat out and colours, bright, lively, happy, excited, warm colours engulf her and  _ shit,  _ there’s the ground, now would be a great time to-

 

She’s weightless. It’s a giddy feeling now. She’s back again in somebody else’s universe and it feels… it feels amazing. Everything in her bubbles up to be more alive than she has felt in a while, weightless, freed from her…  _ kinda _ depressing universe.

 

Who’s is it?

 

Gwen swings around on the street lamp, round and around until she’s not got much momentum left and finally, she comes to a stop perched on the head of the light. It’s so much like the first time, when she fell into Miles’ universe. The place feels the same, too. So, unless she wants to drop by Brooklyns Visions Academy when she’s been ‘missing’ from there since getting deported back to her own universe-

 

Actually, who says she needs to attend the classes? Gwen looks around the decidedly vibrant version of her own pastel Brooklyn. She can patrol until it’s time for classes to end, then she can drop by Miles’ room and surprise him. How long has it been since the collider? A few weeks, a few months? The days sort of blend into each other in her universe, it’s a little hard to tell them apart when they’re monotonous and repetitive.

 

This one is so different she can’t help the little half-smile.

 

She springs off into a patrol with this foreign, but not unwelcome, energy thrumming in her. Brooklyn seems so much brighter now. Gwen swings along gracefully, and her enhanced hearing allows her to pick up on the chatter. People seem pretty surprised to see her.

 

_ “...I could swear I saw her just before Brooklyn got all… weird a few months back…” _

 

_ “...that isn’t Spider-Man. Where do these guys keep coming from…?” _

 

_ “...I didn’t realise there was a Spider-Woman! Oh my god, mom, come look…” _

 

The comments lift a small smile onto her face, and almost for show, she takes perch on a building, observing the world closely. The teal, silky blue of her ballet slippers contrast sharply against the building, but then again, her entire magenta-white-black-teal theme does in general. There are people below pointing at her, surprised, shocked, lifted, happy? Gwen offers a wave from where she is and peels back the hood so it rests on her shoulders. This place is so nice. Her music is still playing, somehow, despite being in a different dimension, but she isn’t complaining. It’s just the one headphone, just in case she’s needed (and she always needs to hear). With her breather done and the small passing crowds sated, Gwen stands, stretches, and nimbly leaps from the building, swinging with practised ease. There’s not much to do, really; this Brooklyn seems almost unnervingly tame. Placid. She gracefully swings in and stops a few muggings, swinging and flipping around the skies like a dancer. The wind is her partner, throwing her around and spinning her in fouettes, steady and constant in that way no person could ever be.

 

On her patrol, she catches sight of what must be her portal nestled away in the nook between a high-rise building and an apartment complex. It explains why she was falling for so long after being spat out. The portal itself… it’s teal, purple, pink.  _ Her  _ colours, distorted particles dancing around like the beat to her favourite songs. Gwen spends a few minutes stood by the portal, deep in thought, growing unaware of the sun’s arc in the sky being gently dipped towards the horizon. She could go home right now, no risk, and keep people safe.

 

But she  _ wants  _ to stay here for a while and be… less sad, really. She doesn’t need to leave until she starts glitching, and if the portal were unstable it would have shut by now, but… it hasn’t. So it must be okay.

 

So she must be okay.

 

“...oh…” She mumbles upon noticing the sun’s position in the sky, slowly being dragged away. It’s… maybe three, four, maybe five (at a stretch) o’clock? Miles should just about be done by now. Gwen springs from the building and uses her momentum to catapult in the direction of Brooklyns Visions Academy. It’s easy, it’s graceful, and she’s springing off cars and moving vans to bolster herself towards the school and it’s nearly there, nearly-

 

She rolls to a stop on top of the building, peering inside. Some of the students she recognises from before are walking back to their dorm rooms, which means Miles should be beginning his patrol soon. She closes her eyes and focuses on her spider-sense. Crouching low to the concrete of the building, Gwen peers out as the unmistakable silhouette shoots out from the shadows, hardly more than a blur, and she can see the telltale web of a spider-person.

 

A small grin comes to her face. If Miles hasn’t sensed her by now, maybe it’s time to surprise him into using that spider-sense of his. Silently, like a predator stalking its prey, Gwen slings herself after Miles. She makes sure to keep far above the younger spider. He’s surprisingly nimble, sprinting through traffic and congested streets with the practised ease, almost dancing with his grace. It’s a vast change from the stumbling, awkward, scared Miles she knew before, and it’s almost irreconcilable to him. It’s pretty cool, though. It’s not the same as her ballet-trained acrobatics, it’s more…  _ Miles,  _ really. Like his street art, like his music taste -- upbeat, colourful, lively. This whole place is like that. 

 

She grins, and allows herself to drop a little further in her next swing, closer to the other Spider-Person. Miles hasn’t noticed yet. Gwen waits, and stays a reasonable distance behind until the younger spider lands on a rooftop, choosing to survey his surroundings. Gwen’s shark grin only grows wider as she tiptoes towards him, silent. She’s getting closer to him, nearly there…

 

She claps a hand onto his shoulder with some force behind it, and says, in the deepest tone she can muster,  _ “Hey.” _

Miles leaps into the air, body flickering invisible, and Gwen only just dodges the punch that’s thrown at her. She laughs out loud, amused, until she sees the teal green electricity of what has to be a venom strike glistening on Miles’ arm.

 

_ Okay, maybe it’s time to diffuse the situation. _

 

“Woah, it’s just me! It’s Gwen! Miles!” There’s a few seconds of pause after she speaks, hands raised, where nothing happens. She pulls her hood down and her mask up just high enough that her face is exposed, some locks of hair falling down to frame her face messily. Miles’ body blinks back into sight almost immediately after, body language that of one slightly confused and hesitant, as he lifts up his mask. 

 

The eye contact lingers just long enough for it to be awkward (about three seconds) before Miles barks a laugh and straightens his posture.

“Huh. You kept the haircut.” He says, tone smug and definitely too amused for Gwen to do nothing about. She huffs, indignant, and swats at his head for the snide remark. She knows it’s a joke; he does too, if the way he swings away laughing is anything to go by. She leaps after him.

“Honestly! First it was hobo Peter, then it was Noir, and now you’re here! I think the multiverse is planning a family reunion, Gwanda!” He yells, mid-swing. The wind makes it difficult to understand, but she  _ does _ nearly miss her next web entirely.

“Wait- hold on, what? The  _ other _ Peters have been here?”

 

To say it’s a surprise is an understatement. It shouldn’t shock her so much, she’s in Miles’ universe after all, but… to think that she isn’t the only Spider-Person to have accidentally fallen through the multiverse without the assistance of a supercollider…? It dredges up some warm, soft hope in her chest that maybe she can see her fellow spiders again. Briefly, Gwen finds herself wondering where she can find this universe’s Peter Parker (she knows not all Spider-People are Peters, just the majority. Look at her, Miles, and Peni), but casts the thought aside in favour of listening to Miles.

“Yeah, they keep popping up. You shoulda seen B, Gwen, his face was super messed up from his landing. I think he’s lost some weight, gettin’ back in the game, ya know?” Miles’ web sticks to a streetlamp and the smaller spider launches into a backflip, his next web pulling him along much faster. Gwen ups her pace to keep up, eyes raking across the streets for any criminal activity brewing.

“And Noir?”

“I taught him some stuff about colours, patrolled with him for a bit. Can’t really remember much else because I got shot, kinda passed out for a bit, but it was pretty cool for a while. I think he likes the colours here.” Gwen nods along, and then is brought up short. She tenses, voice growing sharp.

“Wait, you got  _ shot?!”  _ Miles doesn’t seem that bothered by it; his body language doesn’t say that he’s been shot recently. She’s beginning to wonder if it’s some joke in this universe, but Miles isn’t laughing. He just… _ is. _

“Yeah, that part sucked, but otherwise it was a pretty good day. Why?”

Gwen’s mouth falls open under the mask. “You got  _ shot!” _

“Twice, actually. Hobo Peter freaked out last time, had to get the bullet taken out. Thank god I passed out, right?” It’s a good thing that Miles stops swinging, instead sticking to the side of a building, because  _ they’ve been gone for what, a few months, and Miles has been shot. Twice.  _ That’s a bad track record, even for a Spider-Person. Gwen had been doing her thing for much longer, at least six, maybe seven months before she took a bullet, and even then, it was a grazing injury. Not a wound that required a full-extraction of a bullet.

_ “Twice?! _ Miles!” Miles turns at this, looks at her. His expression is quizzical. Gwen finds the worry in her coming close to the surface, uncomfortably so.

“I took worse with Kingpin, I’m fine. Really.” That doesn’t do much to alleviate her worry-turning-panic. Miles took on the Kingpin alone and survived, but god knows how many hits he took in the process. Guessing from his recklessness in patrols alone… Gwen is willing to bet that he got hit a lot.

“You shouldn’t have to, Miles. You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

His eyebrows drawn inwards, face confused. “Of course I do. I gotta keep getting back up.” 

 

Gwen winces at the reminder of the first time Miles met all the other Spider-People. He’d just had his powers for less than two days, and a bunch of fully-fledged superheroes did what for him? Beat the crap outta him and told him to keep getting back up. Pushed a civilian with superpowers, that’s what Miles was at that point, to his physical, mental and emotional breaking point without hesitation. Now it’s looking back at them in the form of a teenager who’s been shot twice and beaten up beyond all belief that keeps bouncing back because he’s scared of what’ll happen if he doesn’t.

“I didn’t get shot until about six and a half months into being Spider-Woman. It was a graze. You’ve had two full bullet wounds in two, three months? That’s…” She keeps her tone quiet. Calm. She doesn’t need Miles to get hurt over this. Not if she can avoid it.

“I heal. It’s fine.”

“Miles.” Gwen lifts up her mask once more, staring the other teen dead in the eyes. He seems confused, maybe a little hurt.  _ Tired.  _

“I’m fine, Gwen, really.” The soft, defeated inflection of his tone gives away the cause of his troubles. The way his posture slouches like he’s trying to hide away, hide from something. How he fiddles with his hands. The small crack in his voice that wasn’t  _ ‘just puberty’.  _

 

His Uncle. It’s a Spider-Person thing, guilt. Miles has nobody to turn to with that guilt. He’s the youngest of the ragtag, interdimensional group of people, barely fourteen yet, and he’s arguably had the most piled up onto his shoulders. Gwen… she can’t imagine how hard it’s been for him. She sighs; thumbs at the mask in her hands.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for your Uncle. He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”

Miles tenses next to her. She pretends not to notice the slight flickering of his body from visible to camouflaged as his emotions clearly war under the mask.

“I… I know what it’s like to blame yourself. I did when I lost my best friend. But… I don’t think they’d want us to kill ourselves trying to honour them. They’d want us to live. Even if they can’t.” She thinks of her Peter, briefly. How, before it all went wrong… she misses him. She misses him so much, that on some days, she doesn’t want to keep going. But she does. And she will. She turns her head slightly when Miles’ hands come up and pull the mask off. His eyes are red-rimmed and his cheeks are damp enough to let Gwen know he’s been crying for a few minutes now. He takes a few breaths and pulls his knees up to his chest.

“It’s… it’s not  _ just _ that, y’know…? I was there. I was there when  _ this _ universe’s Peter Parker…” Miles takes a shuddering breath. Gwen finds herself shuffling a little closer. She doesn’t usually do comfort, but… Miles needs it. “Kingpin  _ killed _ him. I saw it. It- he was so- so  _ still, _ and- and- and he was  _ broken,  _ Kingpin killed him- crushed his chest, I saw it- and I didn’t do  _ anything _ to stop him. I had my powers but  _ I didn’t help him. _ He said he’d help me control my powers, said he knew he wasn’t alone but he  _ died  _ alone because I didn’t help him. I killed him, Gwen, I killed them, and I…” Miles trails off, muffling a few sounds that Gwen refuses to label as sobs into his knees.

 

Miles watched Spider-Man die.

 

A lot more things make sense now.

“Hey, hey, it’s- you’re…”

 

“And- and then, with Uncle Aaron- I just- I couldn’t do anything, I never did anything,  _ I can’t do that again.  _ I-” Miles dissolves back into sniffles, obscuring his face between his knees. Gwen’s heart wrenches. Why couldn’t it have been Peter B. Parker to have helped Miles through this? He knows how to cope with these things, Gwen… she isn’t nearly as qualified to help Miles.

 

Peter B. Parker isn’t here, though. And- Gwen is Miles’  _ friend. _ She can at least be a shoulder for Miles to cry on. It’s the least she can do, actually.

 

Gwen reaches an arm around Miles’ shoulders and pulls him in so his head rests on her shoulder. Miles tenses, freezes up, and promptly hiccups into a sob. Gwen ignores the burning in her own eyes in favour of consoling her friend, murmuring quiet words that she really hopes will comfort him and help him cope with the pain. She doesn’t know how long it lasts, just that it’s dark out when Miles swipes weakly at his eyes, dotted with red from capillaries that burst under the force of his sobs, and slouches upright again.

“You okay?” She whispers, keeping her tone as soft as possible as to not disturb the younger spider.

“N-no. But… I’m better. Thank you, Gwen.” Miles sniffs, voice thick. He sounds wrecked; completely exhausted.

“I’ll patrol for you tonight. You need to sleep.” 

 

She’s expecting some rebuke, some way that Miles will protest and try to keep being Spider-Man despite how much rest he needs right now, but instead…

“Are you sure that isn’t a problem? I mean, I can do it-” He rubs his eyes, caught mid yawn. Gwen smiles fondly.

“No, you need to sleep. You can patrol tomorrow, okay? Just let me do this for you.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you, Gwen.”

“No prob, Miles. And it suits you. Being Spider-Man, I mean. Welcome to the family.”

Gwen laughs out loud when, in place of a blush, Miles flickers from sight entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhmmmmm it She...... fav.......... oof i'd die for her


	7. They looking for saviours, I'm looking for safety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Given that she's a girl of science, Peni Parker has been trying to understand the nature of the multiverse ever since she got spat back into her own.
> 
> Then push comes to shove, and suddenly, she's got exactly what she needs to gather that kind of data. 
> 
> This universe is so much _brighter_ than her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i ever tell u that i love peni because uhhhh i do, she's Small and Pure

She spends most of her time alone these days. It’s not anything that’s really new to her, not after the loss of her father, but was really made it worse was that, for that brief time after the multiverse incident, she had been without SP//dr, too. That loss had been devastating, crushed her for the short while she was frozen in time before she kicked herself back into gear. It’s taken time — a lot of it, too much for her to feel anything other than determination to rebuild the mech suit.

 

The day Peni finished the mecha, near identical to her father’s original design — finding his schematics for the suit had been… enlightening, and immensely saddening — she knew she could start living again. Tokyo’s crime levels had been pretty steady in the time she was gone, and now she’s back… she can drive it down even further. Allowing her Spider to crawl into the mecha is a warm, bubbly sensation under her skin — it just feels _right_ to allow it to happen, and guessing from the steady stream of incoherent emotions coming through the psychic link in her brain — _safesecurehappygoodwarmhelppeople_ —, her little Spider is too. Sliding into the mecha is like arriving at home, happy and safe like Spider had thought, and with that, she finds herself piloting the mecha out of the warehouse-turned-lab she works in, and out into the dark city with joy running through her veins just as fast as the adrenaline.

 

When she begins swinging in SP//dr, she allows her mind to wander — she can do this in her sleep, anyway — to the multiverse, and her fellow Spider-People. She knows she’s something of an oddball in the group, not having any spider powers herself — then again, they’re all odd. There’s a wide berth of differences between them — Peter B. Parker seemed to have be _done_ with the gig for the first half of the mission against Kingpin and had later regained his energy for being Spider-Man in the final fight. He was tired, beaten, older, sadder. _Spider-Ham?_ Enough said. Miles Morales was the only Spider-Man in the group to be able to go camouflaged or summon bioelectricity. Spider-Man Noir was in grayscale, black and white, and used lethal force against his opponents (and is from the 30s, apparently). Gwen Stacy had a vastly different suit, a leader’s personality, the only Spider-Woman in the group, and arguably one of the most mature of them.

 

She wonders about the nature of the multiverse, too. Surely, if Kingpin had been foolish enough to punch a hole through the material of reality, the multiverse should be damaged in some way, right? Or at least more unstable than it had been before the supercollider. For some reason, she thinks of it in her head as a situation similar to a glass cup — it can be put back together once broken with meticulous care, but there would be cracks, small holes, the fractures in the multiverse would be left clear to see. One cracked, the water in the glass would still trickle through the cracks, slowly, but surely, and spill into others.

 

That analogy suggests that with the damages to the very material of existence, things should be free to travel through. SP//dr goes over a building, and Peni feels joy running through her link to Spider while she ponders deeply. If she could travel through the multiverse, would she? She has to keep Tokyo safe — a hard task on a good day. It’s such a large place and she is only one person, there is only one SP//dr to pilot. It would be a great help to have another Spider-Person to help out, maybe to lessen the burden. She _is_ only thirteen, she should be thinking about applying to a few universities, not fighting crime with her father’s legacy. But she wouldn’t trade this for the world. _This_ is who Peni Parker is, she knows this, she loves this.

 

She’s swinging along still, over the taller buildings, clinging to the sides of them and staring down at the streets hundreds of feet below her, when the first alert pops up on SP//dr’s sensors. They don’t make much sense — they’re nonsensical at best, downright odd at worst, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. Peni’s fingers dance ver the holographic keyboards of the suit, absently chewing the ball of chewing gum in her mouth as she tries to make sense of it. She leans forward. It’s anomalous, completely out-of-the-ordinary. One could even call it unnatural, because whatever it is is moving at some crazy, unseen frequency, too fast to be of this… of this…

 

…universe.

 

SP//dr races towards the anomaly with near manic energy, echoed by the wide grin on Peni’s face. The tingling in the backs of both her’s and Spider’s heads only increases with proximity to whatever is emitting the data — the data which is only getting more and more bizarre on the approach. Biosensors in SP//dr start to pick up _life signs,_ much to Peni’s growing surprise and awe, even though nobody is around to cause that to happen. Soon, she’s on top of a ridiculously tall building, staring out over the skies of Tokyo, and there is… nothing in front of her. The readings haven’t stopped, though. So she waits with bated breath for something to happen, the scientific part of her mind completely taken with whatever she is about to witness only being drowned out by her childish awe… and the hope that she’ll be able to see another Spider-Person in her efforts.

 

She waits inside SP//dr. And she waits, and waits, and waits, for what feels like an hour but is only about twelve minutes, and then-

 

A crackle, a small flash of light and colour that is too yellow-orange, bright and lively, to fit in with the blacks and purples and deep navy blues that seem to dominate the world of Tokyo that she defends. The colours themselves narrow down the list of (known) Spider-People she might run into on her journey. Not Noir — that’d be black and white and gray. Not Gwen Stacy — Peni can imagine her world to be soft, pastel hues. She doesn’t know why, it’s something about the flickering of the Spider-Woman in the collider that makes her think that — they were glitching at an accelerated rate when it all fell to pieces in that supercollider, and Gwen was always followed by some pastel colour when she wasn’t fragmenting. So… that leaves Peter B. Parker, Peter Porker, or Miles Morales, right?

 

She keeps watching as the spark begins to split into a crack in the air, peering inside the developing portal as she can. It’s very bright in this place, bright and colourful like a cartoon or a comic book. She crosses Peter B. Parker off the list. Ham or Morales. She moves SP//dr forward by another few feet, so they’re right up against the mouth of the portal, just about to fall in. The light is swallowed whole by the spiderwebbing backdrop of space behind the portal, but it’s definitely going to be a bright place that she will fall into.

 

With that, final thought SP//dr jumps into the portal.

 

And they’re falling.

 

It’s beautiful, she notices. Without the panic running through her like the first time this had happened, unexpectedly and completely randomly, it’s… incomparable to anything else she’s ever seen in her life. She’s staring at the fabric of the universe, falling through it. She can see little things like dewdrops — they’re other universes, she comes to notice — hanging off the branches of the webs, adorning them with sparks of colour and refracting light. It would be otherworldly, but it isn’t a world. It’s everything. There are no readings on SP//dr, which should be scary — technically, right now, she doesn’t exist — but it isn’t. Peni relaxes into SP//dr and just allows herself to fall through everything. She needs to update SP//dr’s sensors to be able to pick things up, number each universe, maybe even build something so she can hop across this Web of Life as and when it’s needed.

 

They’re approaching one of the little dewdrops now, a bright yellow and lively one. It’s the moment of truth as they spiral uncontrollably into it, and suddenly, SP//dr springs back to life with information and readings and she lands on top of a pretty high up structure, possibly the Brooklyn Bridge, thankfully, not against a billboard this time. Peni shakes her head roughly to dispel the awe that had overcome her, to kick herself back into gear.

 

It’s… Miles’ universe again. She knows this not just because the world isn’t cartoonish or animated like Ham, but because SP//dr seems to recognise the very specific data patterns of this place from the salvage Peni pulled from the first model of SP//dr that was lost inside that supercollider. She was just… building a new body, really, because she’d managed to take the equivalent of what most universes would call a black box (she sometimes forgets how advanced her universe is compared to others) alongside Spider after Scorpion decimated the mecha.

 

It’s nice to be in this place without the looming threat of her death _and_ the destruction of all existing things as they knew it. Now she has the time to enjoy the place — apparently, her portal isn’t going to collapse any time soon. It’s dark purple and blue, and it fizzles occasionally like a glitching computer. She smiles. It’s fitting to her, really, with her affinity for technology.

“This place really is bright, huh, Spider?” She mumbles, staring out into the bustling roads and far off streets of Brooklyn. For her second real trip to America (technically), it’s actually a pretty cool place, especially given that it’s so bright and lively, like a field of sunflowers. She feels affirmation through the link in her head, or the equivalent of it, and nods to herself.

“Do you think we can find Miles-? Actually, do you think we should go to May Parker’s…? We can’t walk around Brooklyn with the mecha…” She doesn’t really want the attention of having her mecha next to her all the time, not because she doesn’t love it, but because really, after the collider, she doesn’t want her mecha to get more damaged than it should be. Losing it once is enough for her.

 

They begin swinging over Brooklyn quickly. SP//dr’s enhanced audio receptors pick up stunned chatter and a few mentions of the collider incident a few months ago, a lot of people whispering about how they’re gonna put the clips on YouTube — that site is positively _ancient_ in her universe — but she ignores them, keeps swinging towards the Parker residence. She does hope Mrs. Parker has been faring well in the time since her nephew’s murder. It’s hard to think of just how much it must have hurt for her to find out the closest thing she had to a son wouldn’t come home.

 

She wonders if it’s anything like learning that your father wouldn’t be coming back ever again.

 

When they arrive, Peni is quick to hop out of the biomechanical suit and feel the sun licking her skin, warming her up from the inside out. There’s something about this universe that brings playful energy up in her; she wants nothing more than to just be free and be a _kid_ right now. It’s empowering, in a way. She knocks at May Parker’s door gently but firmly and twirls on the spot where she stands waiting, occasionally using SP//dr to keep herself upright in the process. She’s so _warm_ and _happy._ It must look pretty odd to any onlookers —  a small girl that clearly isn’t native to Brooklyn with a giant mechanical Spider suit knocking on the door of Spider-Man’s Aunt. There’s still flowers, Spider-Man merchandise, other small things around the property; there probably is at his grave, too. This Spider-Man was much beloved, clearly.

 

May Parker opens the door, peeking out to see who knocked. A breeze, fresh and tasting clearly of Spring and new life, washes past her, and she can’t help the smile that bubbles up onto her expression. It smells like pollen. Her chest feels light.

“Hello, Mrs. Parker!”

“Peni? What are you… come in, please.” Once surprise, May’s expression melts into something much fonder, even as Peni asks for SP//dr to head around the back of the house and she steps into the house. It’s impossible homey inside, Peni thinks as she kicks off her shoes and drops her bag down, like more people live here than just May.

“How have you been, Peni? I do hope it hasn’t been too tough since…” May walks into the kitchen, towards the kettle. Peni treads after her, careful not to slip when her socked feet meet the tiles of the kitchen floor, enjoying the feeling of home rolling over her. This place just feels very secure and happy.

“It was a little hard for a while, but… I rebuilt SP//dr myself,” She puffs out her chest with the declaration, proud of herself. May seems impressed, too, and the happy glow in her heart only feels lighter now, “And now I’m back to being okay again. I just wish Tokyo is as nice as Brooklyn is. It’s so sunny here…”

“Smoggy?” May asks quietly, stirring the liquid in the cups. It must be cocoa, if the pleasant aroma is anything to go by. She clambers up onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table and rests her elbows down on the firm wood, playing lightly with the intricately detailed tablecloth. The cup is set down in front of her, followed up shortly by May pulling up a chair and sitting opposite to her. Peni wraps her fingers around the mug, eagerly soaking up the warmth from inside.

“You have _no_ idea, Mrs. Parker. It’s nasty.”

“I can imagine, Peni — New York is quite the place to live in. And please, call me May. Mrs. Parker makes me feel old.” Peni giggles and commits the knowledge to memory, all the whilst sipping at the cocoa. Maybe all Spider-People like cocoa like this, because it’s made in a way that makes tension unwinds from Peni like one would observe when untying a knot and letting it fall slack.

“Peter used to like his cocoa like that — no matter how old he got. It seems to do the trick with you Spider-People.” May says, expression fond, soft. Perhaps a touch saddened. Peni reaches forward and rests her much smaller hand on May’s, trying to convey the sincerity of her sorrow through her eyes alone.

“I’m sorry for your loss, May. It must have been… horrible.” Peni mumbles the last part, trying to ignore the memories of her own soul-damning ache at the loss of her father. May nods, and they fall into silence.

“I assume you’re going to go looking for Miles. Right?”

 

Peni jolts. What _is_ she going to do while she’s in Brooklyn? Finding the local Spider-Man is a good idea, she wants to do that, but… she’d really like to just walk around the place, explore it while she can before she has to go back to Tokyo. She needs to get Spider from SP//dr, first, because she won’t leave her best friend out of the adventure, but… Peni nods eagerly at May, draining the dregs of her cocoa. May smiles, takes her cup and rests it in the sink while Peni jumps to her feet and brushes off her skirt.

“Could I leave SP//dr in the Spider-Shed? I don’t want to get it hurt while I’m out… not again, at least.” She finds herself blurting out. A small flush rises to her face as May laughs, but the door to the backyard is unlocked. Peni makes sure to hop only on the patio tiles, shoeless as she is, on her way to the Spider-Shed. SP//dr scuttles down from its position on the roof of the Parker household to join her inside the lift, and when they descend, she briefly feels very small in the legacy of this Peter Parker’s many amazing achievements and technological accomplishments. How Miles lives up to this legacy, she doesn’t know. Instead of thinking too hard about it, when the lift comes to a halt and they’re firmly underground, Peni skids along the very smooth floor around the shed, looking at all the many things littering the place. There are the many Spider-Man suits lining the walls, and she could swear one of the tubes has been vacated of a suit since. It must have been one of Peter Parker’s earlier ones — it _was_ slightly smaller than the ones surrounding it, all the many, many different designs that are undoubtedly gifts from other super powered teams in this universe. Peter Parker’s Spider-Man was incredibly successful, clearly.

 

It hits her abruptly that the missing suit is the one Miles wears. It’s a… it’s a beautiful way to honour Peter Parker, to carry on his legacy, even if nobody else understands or knows it. It’s beautiful because Miles Morales has taken on the hero mantle that Peter Parker had started and twisted it in his own way, created his own hero, and now he’s saving people as Miles-Morales-Spider-Man and not an imitation of Peter-Parker-Spider-Man like he had been in the knock-off Spider-Man suit he’d been in the first time he entered the shed. He stopped trying to be someone he couldn’t be and started being the best version of himself and for that, Peni feels honoured to be associated with such a strong person — and he’s only a few months older than she is. He’s almost startlingly mature; then again, to some, she is too.

 

SP//dr eventually settles down up high in the ceiling rafters where Peni can only just reach, tangled up in the cocoon-like web structure that lines the roof of the Spider-Shed. There’s nothing else on the sheet-web, just empty space. Peni briefly wonders if Peter Parker ever slept up here, before dismissing it as somewhat silly. He had a room in the Parker house, why would he?

 

She reaches out and allows Spider to crawl up her arm where it eventually settles down on her shoulder, clinging with unnatural strength to her person, and they leave once more. When she gets back in the house, Peni pulls her shoes and bag back on before she says a bubbly goodbye to May and finally, she sets out to explore Brooklyn. May presses some money into her hand before she leaves, which is wonderfully kind — she can’t thank her enough. Try as she might, May has to push her out of the door (fondly, of course), lest Peni chatters her ears off in her attempts to do so.

 

The sun, she thinks, will always surprise her in its intensity. It’s beautiful, warming her almost instantly like an ethereal hug, and she can’t help the bounce that enters her step from the lightness in her heart at this unequivocally happy world. It’s so pretty, even as she moves from the suburbs of Queens downwards to an old-styled bus stop where there are dozens of people waiting. There are so many interesting smells, too, and seeing all these different people together is pretty awesome to her. She sees it in Tokyo all the time as well, but the light of this universe gives it a new, shining form of unity in her head that won’t be ignored.

 

She pays for her bus ticket — the price seems exorbitant but that’s okay — and settles in quickly, watching New York blur around her as she travels. The city seems so big now she isn’t in her mecha. Spider seems to think so too — it doesn’t feel _scared_ per se, merely apprehensive. She feels the same. Watching skyscrapers and apartment complexes whizz past her is almost hypnotic way, captivating in the simplicity of it. She enjoys it, but it is over far too soon — she’s outside some hospital in Brooklyn, somewhat near to the Visions Academy. She can handle things from here. She hops off the bus, Spider chirping happily in her mind.

She walks, admiring this bright, amazing place all the time, because it’s so… pretty, in the way it hasn’t been completely digitised like Tokyo has been, and the way it’s bright with natural sunlight all the time. It feels organic and distinctly _alive._ She is just... in awe of this universe’s quirks. It’s a little tough to navigate, especially for a thirteen (nearly fourteen!) year old in a different universe, so she does use her phone — she made it, she’s very proud of it — to help her find her way across this nice bubbly place.

 

She doesn’t notice the people walking behind her — after all, Brooklyn is a very busy place and she is pretty inconspicuous right now. There’s no reason to be paranoid, even against the humming of her spider-sense in her head.

 

She should have expected it to go sideways not too soon afterward. The street thins out and it is near desolate — clearly the main street is more popular — and before she can protest or fight against it, a iron-tight vice grip yanks her into a back alley. There’s these few seconds of raw, all encompassing terror that engulfs her whole — her entire body freezes up because she doesn’t know what to do, and she can’t stop these crooks without her mecha on her person and she’s got no defence right now. She tries to yelp or scream, but there’s a hand over her mouth and nose and it reeks of potent alcohol and smoke and her bag is being forcefully torn from her shoulders and _why the hell did she not bring SP//dr because now she’s in the middle of a crime and god knows what could happen to her._

 

Her phone is wrenched from her hands. Peni yells into the hand as best she can, trying to draw the attention of any passersby, but… this place was desolate. This crime… it had been calculated. She had been naive. She can feel Spider’s panic and worry through their link, amplifying her own to the point where it dulls out the fritzing of her spider-sense.

 

She only just ducks enough to dodge the sight of the two crooks being knocked away from her by nothing. Her mind stutters to a halt as she watches the two men falling backwards and being hit seemingly with no perpetrator; they drop her things and ditch their attack on her in their attempt to run, only to get webbed straight into a wall, limbs and mouths both silenced and stilled by the adhesive substance.

 

And then, Spider-Man blinks into existence next to her. She keeps her noise of surprise to herself. She can feel the reassuring pinprick contacts of Spider’s legs on her neck.

“Listen, guys, I’ve had a _really_ long day, couldja just tone it down a _little_ and stop attacking kids. Get a job or something, it pays better.” Miles says, voice tired but body language relaxed and confident. He turns to her, and the millisecond their eyes meet and their spider-senses resonate, that relaxed posture melts almost into curiosity.

_“Peni?”_

Ever aware of the criminals behind them, Peni merely replies, “Hi, Spider-Man.”

 

Miles doesn’t respond but instead looks quickly around the alley, loops an arm around her waist, and hoists them up onto the roof. Peni squeaks in surprise at the sudden movement and is quick to steady herself on the gravelled rooftop. Open mouthed, Peni looks around the bubbly cityscape until Miles speaks.

“Let me guess: you fell out your universe too? Is your portal still open?” He sounds tired. She wonders if he’s been sleeping enough. The Spider-Man gig is pretty hard on those who undertake the role with their own body, clearly. She blinks and frowns, processing the information.

“My portal is on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, Miles. Why…?” The older Spider removes his mask, revealing deep bags and an exhausted expression. Peni winces.

“You’re not the only one of us to have fallen back over here. Peter B, Noir and Gwen all have so far. So: welcome back to Brooklyn, Spider-Person population: 2.” Miles informs her, gesturing lazily over and around Brooklyn. He looks awful. So, against her bubbling curiosity about the other Spider-People’s appearances in this universe, she puts it to the side and focuses on the Spider-Man in front of her. He needs a serious break, just from looking at him alone.

 

She needs to get him to May. But how can she do it without raising alarm bells for him…?

 

Spider tugs at their link, jumping on her shoulder, and Peni knows what she needs to do to get Miles home.

“Could you swing me back to May’s, please? I left SP//dr there when I came to find you, but… Spider wants to get back in the suit, and I’m,” She fakes a yawn here, “I’m pretty tired, actually.”

 

Her ploy seems to have worked: Miles is looking at her with worry in his deep brown eyes, etched into the frown lines on his face. He nods slowly. Peni makes something of a show of the uncertainty she feels, looking over the rooftops. It’s not to say she isn’t just a little bit shaken up by her experience, she _really_ is, but playing up the panic in her to… well, she hates to admit it, to manipulate Miles into resting… it’s easy.

“Can I just… yeah. Thanks.” Peni allows Miles to bring her into a carry and holds on as tight as she can as he breaks into a running start, and jumps. They’re weightless for a few seconds before Peni feels them swinging, and… it’s somewhat different to be swinging in person, and not inside the biomechanical suit. It’s certainly got a different thrill to it, but she thinks she likes her suit a tiny bit more. Something about the added safety.

 

They’re at May’s in a fraction of the time it took to take the bus into Brooklyn. Peni appreciates the speed of the journey; Spider really wants to get back into SP//dr to rest, apparently. Miles seems awkward, like he’s itching to do something else — probably return to his patrol — but he stays there, and steps inside when May allows them in.

“You found him quickly.” She sounds surprised, not unpleasantly. Miles takes off his mask once more.

“Saved Peni from a mugging. She wanted to come back here.”

“Oh- are you okay, Peni?”

“I’m fine. Miles came by before anything could happen.” Peni says. May seems utterly focused on Miles — not that he notices, exhausted as he is.

“You look tired, Miles.”

“It’s nothing, May, I just… I gotta keep patrolling, you know?” Peni finds herself wincing slightly. Maybe she and the others weren’t very understanding to Miles’ situation that time back in the Spider-Shed.

“Yes, Miles. Would you like some cocoa while you’re here?” Miles nods in lieu of words, and lies down across the couch. Peni and Spider take the smaller, one-person recliner and not-so-subtly observe the boy’s face. He’s pushing himself too hard, that much is startlingly clear. He’s nearly comatose by the time May comes in with the cocoa, and when he sips it, he hardly looks present. From there, it isn’t that difficult to wrangle Miles into a blanket and up into Peter Parker’s old bedroom — May’s cocoa had just hurried along the inevitable, and now Miles is wrapped up in several layers of blanket, definitely very unconscious.

 

He doesn’t wake up the entire time Peni spends in this universe, and while she would have liked to have spoken with him more, seen more of this amazing place, she won’t begrudge him his sleep.

 

Besides. She learns, when she collects SP//dr from the Spider-Shed, that the mecha has been collecting data from this dimension the entire time.

 

Which means she might (might) be able to build something to get between these threaded universes.

 

When she hops back through her portal, she’s already constructing schematics for some device to do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would DIE for her


	8. I've fallen on my last lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May’s expression is something awful when the door to the Parker residence is opened. She’s pale, eyes wide at the sight of an unmoving Miles Morales and the two grim-set, stony-faced Spider-Men that flank him, unspeaking and unreadable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohoho i'm back with more uhhhh fuckin spiderverse. whoop whoop motherfcukrer

It’s a normal patrol route for Peter. Or at least, as normal as any patrol route can be for a person in the 1930s with spider-powers and an awareness that other universes exist and he is, by most standards, in the past. So normal. With the added bonus of very few attempts at violent crimes, and a few more leads into the Vulture’s whereabouts.

 

That changes quickly. He’s almost thankful for it; his days have been growing long and tedious with the lack of life in his world. Maybe halfway through his night shift, his spider-sense goes off in that way that means the universe is about to split open once more, and the prospect of being able to spend time with other people like him manages to rouse the rare sense of excitement that only rarely haunts his days.

 

He wonders, after he’s leapt in and while he’s falling, if it’ll be Miles’ universe again. He hopes it is. The colours are mystifying and beautiful there. He suspects that the colours in the other universes are just as beautiful, but he at least wants to learn a few more from the one he’s most familiar with outside his own before that happens.

 

Red — blood _(Miles’ blood flowing like a stream from the bullet wound),_ roses, poppies. Blue — sky, ocean. Green — life, trees, grass. Yellow — sunflowers, sunlight on the ground. There are others, Miles said there are others so there must be, but it is so _hard_ to remember them all in a world where these sights do not exist. He mourns briefly for the emptiness of his world, but dismisses it soon after. What’s the use in trying to change the existence of a universe? He knows he can change things, he has already, but on a _universal_ scale… some things are just meant to be as they are.

 

He shakes his head, careful not to accidentally lose his hat into the multiverse, and prepares himself when he sees the gaping mouth of a universe that he’s plummeting towards.

 

There’s a few seconds after he exists once more where he’s blind and panic tickles up his sides, but it’s only momentary as his eyes adjust to the maelstrom of new information, and suddenly his surroundings leap into their bright existence once more. Peter swings his weight to the side, onto a short building, and gains himself. Yes, this is Miles’ once more. Maybe it’s because he’s spent the most time here as well.

 

It’s night. But it’s still so bright. How odd. Peter removes the fedora, just so the lip of it can’t obscure his vision anymore because he wants to soak in all of these sights. It’s… Miles said it was purple, the red-blue one. It dominates the skyline, silhouetting buildings in a royal glow. The sky is dark blue, so dark a blue it’s nearly black. There are streaks of blood-red, orange that isn’t like the street light Miles didn’t like, a speckling of sunflower-yellow on the horizon that is just disappearing into the night.

 

He sighs fondly. He could spend all day admiring this world. But, as per his instincts, the first thing he should do is find Miles. Guessing from his surroundings, he’s closer to Queens than he is Brooklyn right now. That’s fine. Black coat billowing in the gentle breeze, Peter Parker sucks in a breath and begins sprinting towards the edge of the roof, where with a final burst of speed, he vaults off the roof and into the open air.

 

Noir reaches out his arm, web already bearing his weight by the time it’s fully extended, and begins the swing to… wherever it is his spider-sense is directing him to. It’s going off in that way that it does when there’s a fellow Spider-Person nearby, so it must mean Miles is patrolling still. He can’t help but feel a little concern, mostly smothered under admiration of the colours surrounding him _(that billboard has pink and purple and blue on it),_ that the youngest Spider-Man is patrolling out this late, but… he can’t judge, surely, because he does the same thing.

 

Abruptly, the spider-sense veers in a different direction. Web adhering to the nearest building in that direction, Noir yanks himself towards the way the tingling sensation in his skull wants him to go. It’s only when the intensity of the sense grows, then falls, and spikes again somewhere nearby, is when Noir moves from concerned to worried. Maybe Miles is hurt again. But… if the sense was wavering… with sudden urgency, he takes off in the direction of the sense. If it is wavering- he doesn’t want to think Miles might be, as well. But why else would it be flickering like this?

 

Anticipation grows in his gut like ivy, slowly reaching up into his throat. There is something inherently wrong about this situation, something that isn’t right that he can’t account for. Noir drops onto a roof; scouts the streets for any signs of disturbance. None. With a growing sense of aggravation, he continues his search.

 

He’s unprepared when the spider-sense comes to a head in the form of a jerk into a nearby alleyway, and a small flash of oddly-coloured light that he can’t place. Warily, he swings down into the mouth of the alley and peers inside. Nobody is within. Peter frowns. Then why…?

 

Another flash, and this time, something else. Brightly coloured bubbles form against the back wall in the alley, and in the low light, he can tell they are red, blue, black.

 

_Another portal?_

 

The realisation hits hard. He hasn’t been tracking _Miles._ He’s been tracking whichever _other_ Spider-Person has fallen into this universe.

 

Tentatively, Noir steps forward slightly closer. The bubbles increase in number and intensity, forming a off-coloured oval in the wall. He must have been admiring the colours too intently, for when his spider-sense starts to go off with renewed vigor, he’s completely unprepared to do much more than look up as a vague blur vaults out of the portal and collides roughly with him. Peter falls back into an ugly sprawl with whoever this is lying haphazardly over one of his arms, a leg. The Spider-Person yells indignantly, voice garbled by glitching and resolidifying in a different universe, and sputters oddly; clearly not very pleased. He isn’t either. But he can feel his spider-sense resonate with the one this person clearly has. Peter grunts, struggling with the sudden weight crushing his chest, and can do little more than rip his arm and leg out from this person and roll away from whoever it is. Panting, he stares dead ahead at the person.

 

They’re still mid-way through the process of acclimatising to a new universe, clearly. He can’t see who this person is yet, especially because of the darkness in the alley.

“Noir?!” A ragged voice cries out. He flinches briefly, wondering if the person is hurt, but they’re not hurt. They’re… happy? This person is _happy._ He plays the word over in his head a few times, noting the slight croak and roughness of the tone, the depth of it; the voice is far beyond Miles’ still-changing tone, too masculine to be Gwen’s. The figure is too tall to be Ham. That only leaves…

“B.?” He murmurs, right as the figure solidifies to show the red-and-blue suit of Spider-Man stood in front of him. The figure — Peter B. Parker — nods wildly.

“Noir! Man, is it good to… Wait.” B looks around, seemingly confused under the mask. “This is _Miles’_ universe.”

Peter nods, unsure as to where B is going. “Yes.”

B points a hesitant finger at himself. _“You’re_ in Miles’ universe.”

“Yes.” The same pointing finger is aimed at him, and he almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. If any passersby saw Spider-Man pointing at Spider-Man… it would be amusing, to say the least.

 _“I’m_ in Miles’ universe.”

“Yes.”

 _“Two_ of us are in-” Done with B’s shaky attempts at sciencing this all out, Noir claps a hand onto the coloured Spider-Man’s shoulder and shakes him lightly. B seems to come out of his daze.

“Yes.” Peter says once more.

B seems to struggle with something, jaw working under the mask. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter about that.” The mask comes off. “It’s great to see _another_ another Spider-Person again.”

 

B looks much better than he did last time. Less pale. More healthy. A little less round. Noir breaks from his appraisal and nods in affirmative.

“Good to see you too, B.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s great to see you — great to see me? — again.” B repeats, voice distant, a hand at the nape of his neck.

“You’re gonna give yourself a headache. Stop thinkin’. Let’s go find Miles.”

“Right, right. It’s been a while since I was here.” B says conversationally, strolling straight up the side of the taller building that guards the alleyway. Peter is quick to follow him up there.

“You know how you’re gettin’ around here?” This Brooklyn is far different to his own, and he’s not fully confident in finding his way around. He’d normally trust the spider-sense fully, but if it can spaz out at any time, maybe he shouldn’t rely on it for navigation purposes.

 

When B starts moving, he follows. It’s somewhat challenging with all the high-rise buildings being juxtaposed by the short ones; swinging isn’t quite so simple as he’s used to, but it lends a somewhat dynamic element to the process, one he’d like to experience for longer.

 

But, despite all the differences and changes, he knows this is still Brooklyn. It’s still his home, even if it’s a little different.

 

He can see the makings of his Brooklyn, the older buildings of the place weary and gray compared to the newer, more modern and colourful buildings around the place.

 

They don’t speak much on the swing, he and B. Instead, they’re both warmed by the knowledge of not being on their lonesome, and the almost-familial closeness they feel. It’s peaceful, and that’s something to Peter, because it’s something he doesn’t often get to feel when surrounded by grim darkness and pain.

 

It’s disrupted much too soon. Peter’s head snaps up and he can see B does the same, spider-senses mutually guiding them to… something. Something that feels like danger and stings like worry.

“You too…?” B asks, and Peter nods. Yes. Something is happening up ahead.

 

They hasten their swinging.

 

And are promptly stilled when a small, black blur whizzes through in the small gap between the two Spider-Men, and seems to only just recompose itself before it can uncomfortably meet the building behind it. Noir stares, alarmed, as the figure swings off its momentum on a street lamp and comes to a rough landing on top of the thin metal, crouched on one leg with the other extended towards the head of the lamp.

“Miles…?” It’s B’s voice, but his question. Miles doesn’t hear them. There’s dust and blood on the suit, and a rip in it across the arm. He looks terrible. Like he’s been fighting non-stop for hours against an opponent he can’t stop. Peter takes a silent moment to observe.

 

Miles is slouched, hunched in on himself. Exhaustion, likely. Can’t keep himself up any longer, but he’s doing it anyway. Or maybe a few broken ribs…

 

Noir feels something surge up in his chest, something hot and choking, and it takes a second to place the sensation as the urge to protect the younger Spider-Person. He doesn’t get that opportunity before Miles is leaping, swinging, chasing through the streets towards a construction site. Peter can hear crashes and loud shouts from there already.

“We’ve gotta go after him.” B mumbles. He doesn’t give any further warning before taking after Miles.

 

Peter jerks himself forward unrelentingly. He has a bad feeling about this. The construction site comes into view after a short time elapses; a short time in which B is unnervingly silent and Peter can’t bring himself to speak, either.

 

They’re still a few minutes away when Miles is thrown against another wall. Peter winces as he observes Miles shakily getting back to his feet and launching himself forward again.

 

A giant, lumbering hulk of a villain stomps into view. He doesn’t recognise the brute from here.

 _“Juggernaut.”_ B whispers, horrified, and yeah, Peter can understand that feeling now. Juggernaut. Huge, powerful. Tough.

 

Miles is too new to this game to be playing with somebody like Juggernaut. It isn’t like Kingpin, a human (an admittedly strong one). This is an enhanced person, someone who’s levelled Miles’ playing field into something potentially deadly.

 

“-where were you when the other Spider-Man died, _fake?_ You have your powers, but you didn’t save him! Were you too _scared?_ Or did you just want to be Spider-Man and needed him out of the way?” He hears Juggernaut taunt, distant expression twisted in a sneer. His giant hands are curled into fists and the mere sight of them unnerve Peter. Hell, one fist is nearly the size of Miles’ torso. They’re still running towards their fellow Spider-Man, but it doesn’t feel fast enough. Peter feels a snarl rise up from his chest, and one coming from B, too. Maybe it’s because this universe’s Peter Parker was a Spider-Man and they care most for their own, or maybe it’s just because they have common decency, but Peter can’t help but feel aggrieved for Miles’ loss. May’s loss. Peter Parker is not to be reduced to a way of distraction for a villain who can’t win a fight without. It’s unfair to Peter, to May. To Miles.

 

Miles, who seems to be shaking on the spot in rage, green-blue electricity sparking dangerously from his hands; a clear show of his fury. There’s silence for a few minutes; B pitches forward slightly to pick up the pace of his swinging. The worry radiating from him is palpable. He hears a growl, almost a guttural noise erupt from Miles’ throat, even from this distance, and his attention is instantly back to the ruined battleground of a demolition site. Miles’ chest heaves from his fuming. He’s preparing to attack. Peter goes cold instantly, tensing up. No. Juggernaut isn’t trying to distract Miles by mentioning his predecessor, he’s trying to _anger_ Miles and provoke him into a careless attack, one that’s close range and _stupid against an opponent like this._

 

Like he’s doing right now. Juggernaut isn’t looking at him, he’s facing away from Miles, but the kid is too reckless in his approach. B lurches out from his position next to Peter, dropping from a web and sprinting desperately to clear the distance between himself and Miles to rescue the kid from this trap-in-waiting, but he isn’t fast enough.

“Kid, he’s manipulatin’ you! It’s a trap!” Peter yells out as loud as he can, a last ditch attempt to stop him. Miles doesn’t hear. They’re so close to being able to get Miles out of the way.

 

 _They’re_ not fast enough.

 

Miles leaps up to deliver a staggering blow to Juggernaut, and for his efforts, he’s rewarded with a harsh swat that both audibly makes an upsetting, crunching noise, and sends him careening into an unforgiving gray wall where his limbs splay out on impact alongside a loud cry. He doesn’t stir after his body impacts the gravelly ground below.

 

He hears a despairing noise from below him in the form of Miles’ name. B’s mask-eyes turn from determined slits to huge and disbelieving as he takes it in. Peter feels his heart stop, blood rushing loud in his ears, as his world stills. They’re just entering the building site grounds now, B approaching from below and Peter from above, but he feels so small in the face of his own inability to rescue Miles in time. Peter releases his web and lets the wind slow his fall, swallowing down the burning feeling in his throat and eyes when his feet make heavy contact with the dusty, dirty ground. Now is no time to be distracted by feelings.

 

When he catches sight of Miles’ tiny crumpled body, his heart falls. There are cracks running out on the plain wall from where Miles hit it, and even in the dim orange illumination from the streets filtering through to the construction site, he can see well enough that Miles isn’t moving. When he turns around, trench coat billowing out menacingly behind him, he’s numb. The wind rushes in his ears. Juggernaut isn’t looking at them, seemingly confident of his victory — or maybe their silhouettes are obscured by the shadows Miles was sent careening into, and the villain simply hasn’t seen them yet —, but the remnants of a satisfied smirk are still there and it sparks a burning desire to _hurt_ in Peter’s veins. It spreads like wildfire and his fingers dance over the revolver at his side.

 

 _Breathe._ Peter holds a finger to his lips so B sees, and creeps silently towards the child. They _cannot_ blow their cover until they’ve confirmed Miles’ safety. So instead of putting several holes through the Juggernaut, or beating him into a pulp with his bare hands, Peter Benjamin Parker crouches low next to the child, reaching out with a tentative hand. B is next to him now, radiating panic and distress and fretting over Miles.

“Oh, no no no… you don’t get to do this, Morales, you hear me?! You stay with us. Please. _Please.”_ Surprise overtakes him as he watches B daintily touch Miles’ face — the kid doesn’t stir at all, and it scares him to no end —, because the way B’s hands flutter over Miles’ body, scared of touching him, strikes a particular chord within him — the tenderness the red-blue Spider-Man is showing is… almost paternal. But it’s in the way.

“B. You need to let me check on him.” Peter murmurs lowly, ever-aware of their large adversary shouting and continuing his rampage with renewed energy nearby. B jolts as if electrocuted and pulls away.

“Yeah, yeah,- shit, sorry, I’ll-” The older Spider-Man can’t seem to suck in a solid breath. Peter frowns and rests a hand on B’s (surprisingly solid) shoulder.

 _“Breathe._ You’re no good to Miles if you pass out.”

In place of speaking, B just nods.

Hesitant in case of a negative result, Peter rests a shaky hand to the youngest Spider-Man’s throat. There’s a split second where he fears Miles is gone already, one that passes only after a few sluggish pumps of a heartbeat under his fingers.

“He’s still alive, B. He’s not goin’ to croak on us yet.” Peter turns in time to watch B slump, the weight of the world burdening him. He doesn’t speak.

 

The heart is beating, but is he breathing? Peter can’t see any movement of Miles’ chest in this darkness. Swallowing, Peter works Miles’ mask off his face.

 

Beside him, B curses lowly. The bags under Miles’ eyes are a sight to behold, sunken and dark and a clear indication that this child hasn’t been sleeping, maybe not eating, too. He looks to be in a state of almost neglect; cracked lips slightly parted from that last noise he made before falling. There’s an open gash gushing blood mere millimetres above Miles’ left eyebrow, the kid’s lip is busted up, and his nose might be broken from the looks of things.

 

Now scared, Peter lowers himself down to the kid’s level.

 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if there’s no life in Miles’ lungs. Guessing from the burning, coiling grief building in his lungs, it would be something stupid.

 

A wheezing puff of breath tickles his face, warm but weak. A sigh of relief escapes him. Peter continues his check of the kid, prodding gently at the ribs; feeling for any breaks while B mumbles rapidly over his shoulder. The bones don’t seem as strong or steady as they should be; slightly too tender to the touch. Miles needs serious medical attention, and soon, because his breaths are too shaky and he isn’t regaining consciousness, but they _need_ to contain the Juggernaut as well.

“We need to get him to May, B. He’s broken some ribs; he’s breathin’, but he’s weak, and that gash ain’t lookin’ too good.” He has to get Miles out of this building site.

 

He doesn’t speak when B reaches out once more, hand making full contact with Miles’ head; cradling him. Even when blood dyes B’s glove darker red, blood red, he remains silent, fist curling and crunching some gravel from the floor. There are steel beams all around them, and the weak structure of the site is an advantage on the battlefield, but a detriment to Miles’ health if he remains here while they fight. Picking him up probably isn’t safe, what with his ribs, but what other choice do they have? So as gently as he can, he shifts Miles’ weight until he’s resting securely in his arms, unnerved by the pliancy, and scouts his surroundings for some safe place to keep the youngest Spider.

“Juggernaut-” B says, breathless in anger. A single glance at him tells Peter he’s prepared to unleash hell on their adversary, and it’s almost enough to make him feel sorry for the villain. Juggernaut won’t be getting out of this one unharmed.

 

But neither did Miles, and at the thought, whatever pity he might have still held fades.

 

“Go.” He says grimly. B takes one last look at Miles, coddled up in his arms and smaller than ever, before he’s sprinting at breakneck speed towards the hulking figure of the Juggernaut.

 

The universe bursts back into motion after that. The next thing he knows, a jarring roar has torn out of B’s throat, and he’s veering towards the Juggernaut with such force that Peter knows this is the equivalent of a wolf going for the throat. He needs to stay with Miles and keep him safe. He hears the first punch, a yell, a crash of somebody ridiculously heavy meeting the ground.

 

It’s silent over here leaning against the building, the hush only disrupted by the quiet clatter of falling rubble in the distance and B’s harsh tones.

 

_“He’s just a kid! You’re a monster.”_

 

_“And you deserve everything you get.”_

 

Miles’ wheezing breaths don’t calm his anxiety either, for they grow no steadier in time. Noir looks up to the towering cranes far overhead holding the steel beams, the nearby buildings, the higher floors of this building that are still skeletons. He needs to get somewhere safer.

 

Eventually, he settles for the small space inside the crane where a person would operate it in the furthest one away from the fight, one that will allow him to make sure B doesn’t get hurt too. He sets Miles down on the ground, laying on his back as to not aggravate his ribs, and shrugs off his trench coat to try to keep him warm. He won’t leave without B. Miles looks much too small, body hidden by the heavy coat; expression one of struggle and pain. There’s sweat beading at his brow (probably from the pain, his mind supplies) that mixes with blood from the cut. Peter crouches down to him and wipes it away with a thumb. Peter clenches his fist. The cold is creeping into his fingers and settling as the night grows ever older, and as Miles’ condition undoubtedly grows worse. Peter itches to move, to help, to do _something_ more than just stand there, but Miles needs him more than his boredom could ever mean, so he stays put.

 

Maybe ten minutes pass like this. Clouds are starting to line the sky, and Peter can hear the upset growl of thunder from miles away from here. Miles hasn’t stirred, but seems to be growing closer to consciousness, because when Peter moved to tuck the coat around him, he let out a hurt gasp and he had to stop in his tracks. He’s about to try and wrap Miles up once more when his spider-sense starts ringing like there’s no tomorrow. He looks around, confused.

 

There’s a yelp and a crash, and when he looks down, B struggles out of the hole he made in the brick wall on the perimeter of this place. Suddenly alert, Peter bolts upright and closer to the edge of the little room to look down. B looks like he’s beginning to burn out; his dodges have less energy and grace to them, and the Juggernaut doesn’t stagger back so much when a hit is landed on him. B’s tiring out and he needs help.

 

Miles still needs help though. He can’t leave the kid unattended, what if he gets worse?

 

But… B is in danger now, more pressing, definite danger compared to Miles’ unsteady state. Not to mention that B is trying to fight an adversary like the Juggernaut _alone._ With a murmured _‘stay with us, kid’_ and a light squeeze of Miles’ hand, Peter leaps from the crane and into battle. It’s odd to not feel or hear his coat flapping behind him in the wind but he’s lighter and faster for it.

 

He grits his teeth and clenches the webbing in his fist, dropping to the ground and sprinting toward his fellow Spider-Man. He notices three things instantly: B’s suit is battered, he’s cradling his ribs, and Juggernaut has small bruises littering his entire body.

“Bastard wouldn’t stop smirking. Thought I’d wipe it off his face.” B gasps out by way of explanation, before launching himself back into the fight. Peter jogs in, jumps up, and delivers the sharpest downward punch he can to the villain’s arms in an attempt to immobilise him. There’s a roar of pain and a hit that very nearly clips his side, but he _just_ manages to elevate his body over the massive limb in time.

 

He thinks of Miles, small and still and silent up in that crane, and that spark of anger returns to him. _This_ person hurt Miles that badly. And when he delivers a crushing jab to Juggernaut’s rib area, the towering figure stumbles backward.

“You go high, I’ll go low!” B growls from behind him, having skidded backwards from a hit that made contact with his shoulder, and he nods before making a sprint towards Juggernaut again. He jumps, presses his feet to the massive helmet, and pushes off as hard as he can — enough to make the giant stumble backward into a tripwire web B had set up. Juggernaut falls backward to the ground, roaring the entire way down.

 

It doesn’t last long, but he’s down long enough for Peter to pick up one of the shorter metal beams from nearby. He would have gone for the gun ordinarily but Miles wouldn’t like that. Rain has started to fall in the time it took Juggernaut to regain his footing, dark clouds now overhead, and getting a good grasp on the beam is tougher than normal, but he gets it nonetheless.

“B, bring him here!” He bellows, lifting the beam up just enough to be able to swing at whoever comes near.

 

That helmet is thick enough that a direct hit to the head won’t kill Juggernaut. If he does it right, it will knock him out, though.

 

B comes sprinting into Peter’s line of sight, suit dirtied with mud splashed up the side of it, with Juggernaut stampeding after him. Peter readies himself.

 

Nearly, nearly, nearly…

 

“You need to be lookin’ out, Juggie. You might trip.” He spits, and the villain doesn’t notice his mistake until it’s too late, and he doesn’t notice at all after that.

 

Noir swings the steel beam as hard as he can into Juggernaut’s helmet. The resultant _clang_ is deafening, the vibrations from the metal up his arm nigh-unbearable, but he keeps the force behind the swing.

 

He’s rewarded by Juggernaut dropping to the floor, unconscious. Peter drops the beam, panting, and then to his knees also. B’s footsteps approach, splashing in the growing puddles. Blue-covered legs enter his line of sight. A hand arrives not-soon after.

“You alright, man?”

He takes the hand and allows himself to be pulled back up. “Thanks, B.”

 

Peter takes a few minutes to regain himself. The building site has turned from dusty to sloppy with slushy dirt and muddy water, grays and browns and blacks in the night. Asides from the walls Miles and B hit, there’s little collateral damage, too. A shiver rips through him — without his coat trapping heat in, and in the rain, he’s all the colder for it. B doesn’t seem to have fared much better in the fight, covered from head to toe in splashes of mud, figure slightly hunched. If Peter had to guess, B’s cracked a few ribs. A few minutes pass, and they start walking away from Juggernaut.

“Should we not stay there until someone can apprehend Juggernaut?” Peter asks, feeling oddly uncertain and out of place. B shake his head; huffs loudly.

“Nah. If there’s one thing I can count on, it’s that SHIELD is gonna pick this bastard up.” B says like it explains everything. It does not, in fact, explain anything, and it actually makes Peter a little _more_ confused.

“SHIELD?”

“Some fancy government branch that deals with the bad guys after _we_ deal with the bad guys. Paranoid bastards are probably just waiting for us to go.” B says with a snort. Suddenly, he tenses up and urgency begins to leak back into his frame. For a second, Peter fears the Juggernaut has somehow woken up already, but that fades within a few seconds of B speaking.

 _“Miles.”_ He says, voice frightened. Peter nearly slaps himself — how did he allow himself to forget in the heat of the battle? He jerks his head toward the crane Miles is hidden away in.

“He was gettin’ cold. He’s up here.” Climbing is easy with desperation pushing his limits.

 

He’s simultaneously relieved and worried by the fact that Miles hasn’t moved since he joined the fight. Peter can faintly see the rise and fall of the kid’s chest under the trench coat.

“He’s still breathin’. We gotta get him to May’s, pronto.” Peter says gruffly, scooping Miles up into his arms once more, and tucking the coat around the tiny body. B’s hands twitch like he wants to hold Miles, but Peter doesn’t shift. He’s pretty sure B could use some medical treatment as well.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, okay… is he…?”

“He’ll be fine, B. Come on. Let’s go.” Peter injects as much warmth and reassurance into his tone as possible, but B doesn’t relax in the slightest. He feels a little inadequate because he can’t reassure his… fellow Spider-Person? Friend? It feels more like siblings, or family at this point.

 

The trip is short, but it takes a small eternity to Peter. Miles is light and small in his arms, a little tough to manage between swinging and steering himself in the right direction, but he’d never drop the child he carries. He’d fall before he let that happen. B is uncharacteristically quiet, even more so than that awful moment when Miles first got thrown at them, or when they were racing desperately toward him. It’s silent, aside from the howling wind and the sound of rushing rain hitting concrete down below. A shudder rips through Peter, but he can only find himself hoping that Miles isn’t suffering even more for the bad weather.

 

Finally, when they arrive at Queens, Peter allows something other than all-encompassing fear to bloom in his chest. A small sunflower of hope grows between his lungs, bright and outstretched. He can only hope it survives these harsh conditions and continues to thrive.

 

May’s expression is something awful when the door to the Parker residence is opened. She’s pale, eyes wide at the sight of an unmoving Miles Morales and the two grim-set, stony-faced Spider-Men that flank him, unspeaking and unreadable.

“Is he…?” There are tears in her tight voice. The ones on her cheek catch and reflect the orange street light. In this moment, May Parker looks both exhausted and restless, arms outstretched to hold Miles. Peter looks at the floor when May touches Miles’ face, gasping quietly at the stillness. Rainwater, like tears, runs down Miles’ cheeks.

“He’s alive. But he’s hurt. Help him. Please.” Peter says. He doesn’t bother repressing the fear that seeps into his tone, the desperation that makes his grip on Miles’ still body tighten.

 

They’re ushered in. Peter can see that the reason May was so concerned, so bizarrely pale mere seconds after opening the door, is because there had been media coverage of their fight. He watches it all play back at him through the TV. The moment Miles hit the wall and fell, unmoving. Both Spider-Men obscuring Miles’ form from the view of the cameras (that was lucky). B’s furious attack. Himself swooping down from the cranes above, and later delivering the knockout blow. Some people, clad in black with odd insignias on their chests, escorting an unconscious Juggernaut away from the scene.

 

Peter sees B’s red-clad fist clenching, releasing, then twitching oddly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

 

“They televised the fight. Or most of it. The video quality isn’t good, but… Miles’ face didn’t get out. His identity is still safe,” May tells them. Her voice is far too hushed, “I need you to bring him upstairs to the spare room. This… it’s going to take a while. He should be comfortable.”

 

Peter follows her silently upstairs. Miles’ breaths are short and rapid. Pained-sounding.

 

He does as he’s told after that, too exhausted to take any further initiative. May tells him to rest Miles down on the bed after she pulls back the covers. He does so and pulls his coat from the younger Spider-Man at the same time, exposing all the damages to sight. Cuts, bruises, and his busted ribcage. May’s expression contorts into a wince. May tells him to grab some of her Peter’s clothes to change into, because he and B are both soaked down to the bone and they need it. Miles is bad enough as it is, she doesn’t need everyone to get sick and strain his health further. Peter does.

 

“When you’re changed, I need you to bring the medical supplies from the Spider-Shed up here. Be quick.”

 

They rush outside into the Spider-Shed first. Given the downpour that drenches them further, it would have made little sense to dampen dry clothes. They gather everything they can in their arms, from fully-stocked medkits to rolls of bandages and an IV stand, and head back as quickly as possible.

 

The laugh May gives when they pile into the room holding the supplies is exhausted, but genuine. Maybe a little bit hysterical. Miles’ suit has been cut and peeled away around the chest, exposing the mottled state of his ribs. It’s nasty to look at, and it’s probably for the best that Miles passed out. It would have been agonisingly painful otherwise. They’re ushered out before either of them can ask after Miles’ condition.

 

B looks like somebody kicked his favourite puppy and wouldn’t let him help it. Peter, himself… his chest felt a little too tight. A little too hot and panicked.

 

One by one, they changed into the clothes Peter had gotten out for them. The fabric is soft, but warm, and it felt oddly familiar. Maybe _that_ was because of the multiversal similarities each Spider-Person is seemingly doomed to share. B tiredly watches the TV, eyes reading a pain Peter himself doesn’t quite think he can match up to. Sure, he loves Miles like a little brother. But he’s well aware that B is something of a dad-figure to Miles. He can’t imagine what had been going through B’s head as he watched everything go wrong.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He ventures. He’s almost surprised by his own question, given feelings have never been his strong suit, but helping people in crises sure is and that’s what this classifies as to him. Helping someone in crisis.

“Not really. Just wish I could’ve helped Miles out more… or at least before it got this bad, you know?” B sounds wrecked. Utterly confused and hurt and panicked all at once. It’s disappear when Miles wakes up, he knows, but until then…

“Yeah.”

 

They fall into silence.

 

It isn’t a surprise that they fall asleep soon after that.

 

* * *

 

“Peter. Peter, it’s time to wake up. _There_ you are.” He blinks awake slowly, confused, and comes face to face with May Parker. Her expression is tired, but pleased. It feels like early morning. Amber-yellow light spills through open curtains.

“May- _Miles,_ how is Miles?”

“B said the exact same thing, you know.” Her tone is fond, even though her eyes are sad.

He feels warmth rush up to his face, oddly enough. “Oh.” May takes pity on him.

“He’s… he’s going to be healing for a while. Maybe a week or two. I know you Spider-People heal quickly, but it was bad. You guys should probably take it easy on him, let him rest.”

 

It’s a tough pill to swallow. Spider-People are tougher than most. Peter himself can bounce back from injuries that could and would kill other men, and heal from them completely in a few days. For Miles to be hurt so bad it will take weeks to come back from it completely…

 

“His injuries?”

“Probably best if you don’t know. They’re healing. That’s what’s important. You can see him if you want.”

 

Peter stumbles upright. There’s a crick in his neck from his awkward positioning on the couch. B isn’t in his seat anymore — he’s probably upstairs. With his kid.

 

He moves on autopilot and pads upstairs silently, pushing open the door with the same stealth.

 

B is sat at Miles’ bedside, dozing in the desk chair he pulled out from the table. It can’t be comfortable. The curtains are drawn and the room is bathed in darkness, but it’s a nice kind, like a passing shadow instead of a overhanging shroud. Peter feels a small smile bubble up before he can stop it- before he _wants_ to stop it. He doesn’t, truly.

 

The gash on Miles’ head has been sealed by a few butterfly stitches. The cut on his arm is wrapped in bandages, and the blood has yet to seep through. The comforter is pulled up to Miles’ chest so the injury is covered, and more importantly, the youngest Spider-Person is warm and safe.

 

He looks very small right now.

 

Peter sits down on the floor next to the bed, making sure Miles stays within his sight. He’s not gonna let the kid get hurt anymore than he already has been. He’s probably gonna have to web the kid to the bed to get him to stay put once he wakes up, but that’s fine.

 

He looks at the peaceful picture before him. Yeah, this… this is worth protecting. This is worth it. He grabs up for Miles’ hand, and watches a sleepy smile come to his face.

 

He never thought he’d have another family to protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why can t i type
> 
> also this just in: i fuckin love noir. tired man

**Author's Note:**

> my god i love this movie. 1000000/10, best movie to ever exist near me. oof.


End file.
